


When Soul Meets Body

by StarTravel



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: A Stitch in Time - Andrew Robinson, All of Them TBh - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Identity Issues, Jealous Elim Garak, Jealous Julian Bashir, Lack of Communication, Mutual Pining, POV Elim Garak, POV Julian Bashir, POV Kelas Parmak, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Relationship Negotiation, Self-Esteem Issues, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-01-13 08:11:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18464971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarTravel/pseuds/StarTravel
Summary: Julian Bashir is trying to build a new life for himself on Cardassia while also wrestling with ghosts from the recent and distant past. Elim Garak is trying to balance his bond with both his soulmates while also rebuilding Cardassia. And Kelas Parmak





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guide to how Soulmarks work in this universe, with more details to be added as needed:
> 
> Everyone is born with the potential for a soulmate/mark, and sometimes more than one. Soulmates can be romantic or platonic or other forms of relationships. Marks are typically formed on the skin in the varied shapes and outlines with thin lines. After someone meets their soulmate, a bond is formed between them that creates a specific feeling when the two (or three or four or etc) people are in contact with each other and that can cause bond pain resulting in headaches and tiredness when the bonded pairs or groups are separated for too long. As people get to know their soulmates, they start to get colors that show their soulmate’s personality. 
> 
> Of the Main Groups talked about here:
> 
> Humans: The shape of the mark is typically there from birth, though this can be affected by how their bonded partner's soulmarks work. 
> 
> Cardassians: Their marks form during first contact with their bonded partner.
> 
> Klingons: Their marks form at birth. If their partner has a soulmate who is not their own, they will also receive that person's mark, but the colors will not fill in. See Worf and Jadzia and Sisko.
> 
> Trills: Their mark appears at bond formation. If they have a Symbiont, they will also get faded versions of their previous hosts' marks.

Julian raises Garak’s hand up to stare at his mark, not entirely filled in even though they first established their soulbond over six years ago. For once, Julian is more patient with that than Garak, but he supposes that makes sense. Humans are born with their soulmarks and spend decades wondering who their soulmate might be, and prior to the First Contact half the population never even met theirs. Cardassians only get theirs when the bond is formed, the mark shaping onto their skin along with the connection that came with the bond and the unfortunate throbbing and headaches that come with too much emotional and physical distance.

 Besides, Julian always thought his mark on someone else would stay empty. Seeing any color in there is a blessing, especially ones as bright as those embedded in Garak’s skin. “Do you think that shade of tangerine is how I see me or how you see me?”

 “Given how close it is to that neon green, I’d have to guess that particular burst of creativity must come from you, darling.” Elim murmurs in a wry voice as Julian traces his hands along the outside of their shared mark. Elim’s is on the side of his forearm, carefully hidden from view unless Elim wanted to show it. Julian’s own is not nearly so mysterious, boldly sitting in the center of his right hand.

 He remembers the way Elim’s eyes narrowed the first time he saw the unique patterns of swirls and stars, the interlacing flowers spreading out into the heavens. Julian knows he can be smug, but he’s always thought he had a uniquely beautiful mark, and he’d been a bit insulted when Elim looked at it like a prison sentence.

 Later he understood but felt no less insulted. That’s all in the past now though. Now he and Elim are sharing their bed for the last time on deep space 9, leaving for a new life together on Cardassia in the morning.

 It’s more than Julian ever thought he’d have and certainly more than he deserves. Especially when a part of him is always just a little unsure if the mark’s truly his, if all of Elim’s colors are meant for him and not a man who never got the chance to grow up and see them.

 “I don’t think they look that bad together.” Julian huffs instead of any of that, leaning over pointedly to press a kiss to the place where a green swirl and tangerine blossom meet. Then he holds up palm in front of Elim’s face, his other hand running along the slender line that crosses straight through the center of his mark. “Though only I have this line of grey, so that must be something you have that I don’t.”

 “Grey does represent formality and the ability to be practical, dear.” Elim murmurs as he nips the side of Julian’s ear, voice light and playful as his free hand slides up Julian’s flank. Julian play twists around to nip one of the scales on the side of his neck, his hand coming down to rest on the back of Elim’s neck instead.

 Julian glances back down Elim’s arm, Elim shifting so he’s sitting up enough to follow his gaze. Right in the center is a bright burst of pink, with hints of magenta on the edges that bleed into tangerine and red on either side. Elim tells him he finds it oddly beautiful in it’s audacity and Julian chooses to believe him. “But only my mark on you has that lovely shade of pink. My playful wit or compassion, I imagine.”

 “Or your exhausting immaturity.” Elim huffs before nipping the side of his ear again, suddenly twisting around so Elim’s head is no longer resting in his lap. Julian opens his mouth to argue, but it’s quickly swallowed in a passionate kiss as Elim pulls him down on top of him. After that Julian has no more protests.

*****

 “Are you sure you want to come with?” Elim asks when they reach the shuttle doors, gaze protective and longing at once. He glances at the gate and then across the halls of Deep Space 9. Julian glances down the promenade, smiling softly as he catches sight of Garak’s old shop and the corner of Quark’s bar. He’ll miss this place. It was his first real home, but it’s time to move on. “You know there won’t be any of your Federation luxuries on Cardassia now, besides the ones they so kindly provided for you.”

 “Elim, I’ve survived without Federation luxuries before, or do you not remember that I was at Interment 371 for an entire month before you and Worf arrived to rescue me?” Julian raises an eyebrow and tilts his head to the left, smirking slightly in a way he knows Elim’s learned to be wary of. Elim crosses his arms, face wrinkling in annoyance despite the curiosity in his gaze. Julian leans in so their noses brush together, smirking just a bit. “Once they stopped giving us food and General Martok and I had to eat voles for nearly three days.”

 “What a charming story.” Elim says dryly, gaze filling with disgust as he runs his index finger across the lapel of Julian’s shirt. He wrinkles his nose a bit, as though imagining the smell of burnt vole. He’s not getting anywhere close to how offensive it truly was.

 Julian grins crookedly as he takes Elim’s hand between his own and squeezes it softly. “My point is that I’m not afraid.”

 “I know you aren’t afraid of hard work or suffering if you think the cause worthy of your vaunted Federation sacrifice.” Elim’s voice comes out warm and assured, but there’s just enough of a catch on the word ‘sacrifice’ for Julian to hear the ‘but’ before Elim says it. He wonders when he started being able to read Elim’s voice so well instead of feeling like every word ended in a question mark. “But you shouldn’t have to pay for my sins with me.”

Julian swallows down the sharp burst of laughter he can feel building in his chest, the tears of disbelief burning in the back of skull. Elim’s sins? Elim wanted to talk of crimes decades past, crimes he’s more than atoned for in his years here and his sacrifices for Cardassia, when Julian’s are still fresh on his skin?

 He’s tortured a man. Not a good man, but a man nonetheless, and he did it with a ruthlessness he fears killed whatever was left of Jules and himself in one go. If anything, Elim should be the one wary about staying with him. especially given that the first time he erased a bit of his soul it was Elim on the other side of the gun. “Do you remember what happened when I shot you?”

 “I seem to remember you spending half a year avoiding me, and then me being thrown in jail right as you came to your senses.” Elim’s voice borders on chiding, eye ridges pressing together as he gives Julian an inscrutable look. Julian rolls his eyes a bit, taking Elim’s hand with his own, while he lifts the marked one up in front of Elim’s face.

 “No, I mean with the marks. Mine took on this sudden thin line of mauve and yours took a bit of lavender in the corner.” Julian lets go of Elim’s to trace the line of lilac with his pinkie finger, smiling ruefully as he comes to the end. He’s never been quite sure what that color means about Elim or them. Purple has so many meanings; authenticity and nobility of spirit, but also arrogance and pride.

 Elim scoffs a little as he glances down at the spot, a bit of fondness entering his gaze. Elim’s told Julian he knows exactly what that slim patch of purple means, but he refuses to tell Julian. It’s quite frustrating. “Yes, and you still won’t look at it. What’s the point here, Julian?”

Julian smiles softly as he grabs Elim’s hand again, pressing their marks together. On Cardassia, it’s a sign of togetherness, of trust and family. For Julian it represents the way they complement and fulfill each other, the way they drive each other to change for better (like Elim) or for the worse (like Julian). “You didn’t abandon me after that, after what I became. You can’t expect me to leave just because you become better and better by the day.”

 “You’re a ridiculous sentimentalist.” Elim sighs, voice somehow disappointed and fond in the same breath. Julian can see the touch of reproach in his gaze, but no words follow. They’ve had the argument about if Julian became better or worse after his hand touched that gun 100s of times before, and they don’t need to have it again now.

 “And luckily for me, so are you.” Julian grins playfully, raising one eyebrow as he leans in until their foreheads are touching. Elim presses their lips together  

  “You know he’ll be there.” Elim murmurs as he pulls away from him, gaze growing distant. Of course. Julian glances down at the mark on the inside of Elim’s right hand, the colorless swirls and vines intersecting.

 Julian takes a deep breath and pushes down whatever insecurity and jealousy he feels at the idea of Elim’s other soulmate, the person who quietly reminds him he’s not quite _enough_ for Elim. He’s not and Elim deserves the solace that comes with forgiveness and the exhilaration and sense of belonging that comes with love. He can’t, won’t deny Elim having more of that in his life. Julian can’t think of anyone who deserves it more.

“Yes, and I want you to find him. You need to face this Kelas Parmak. You’re meant for each other, you’ll find a way back to each other.” 

 “And then?” Elim’s voice is barely above a whisper and there are too many questions in his words for Julian to answer him. He does anyway.

 “And then I hope you’ll finally let yourself be happy.” Julian leans in and kisses him softly, clasping their hands together. Julian doesn’t know how things will change once they’re on Cardassia, if their relationship will be strengthened or torn to shreds, or if he’ll find atonement there or condemnation.

 But Julian knows that going will be worth it if Elim can find what he needs.

* * *

  Their time on Cardassia almost immediately turns to work, both of them being scheduled to different shifts within seconds of arriving on Cardassia. Julian is more needed in the moment, spending long hours at the refugee hospital from nearly the moment they land. Garak has to go through a more vigorous assignment process - he is both a Cardassian hero and a feared former member of the Obsidian Order - but today he has finally gotten his assignment.

 With Kelas Parmak.

 Waiting and worrying over Julian, too slender and exposed and not built for the Cardassian heat, is almost a relief from thinking about that letter.

 “You rushed out of here without wearing your mask again, Julian.” Garak mutters in a clipped voice, raising an eye ridge when Julian finally stumbles into the shed, a hacking cough pulled from his lungs. Julian’s entire body shakes with the effort, one hand grasping the doorway to keep himself steady. Garak swallows several curse words in favor of taking Julian’s arm and leading him toward their makeshift bed. Julian sits down and takes a few ragged breaths, a thin layer of dust covering his arms and the edges of his skant. “I swear sometimes it’s as though you forget that, genetically engineered or not, you’re still only human.”

 “You worry too much.” Julian’s voice comes out rough, but the coughing has subsided and that’s enough for Garak for the moment. He knows he can’t stop Julian from devoting himself to his work, especially not here on Cardassia where the need is so much more immediate. He wouldn’t want to. Julian’s dedication and compassion as a doctor are two of the things that Garak admires most about him. And right now Cardassia needs them.

 Garak just wishes Julian could find ways of employing those skills without risking his own health.

 Julian has seemingly forgotten their conversation, slender legs stretched out in front of him in a manner that borders on the obscene now that he’s abandoned his jumpsuits for skants.

 Julian glances down at a paper on his desk, slightly crinkled from the numerous times Garak has grasped it between his hands, disbelief surging through him anew each time he read it. The universe really did have a delightfully perverse sense of humor sometimes. Julian brushes up against his side, voice almost painfully soft. “You’re assigned to his medical team.”

 “Yes, it appears I am. What of it, my dear?” Garak asks in a deceptively light tone, squeezing the soft skin of thigh. He focuses on the way the skin molds beneath his hand, marvels lightly at the way Julian’s always been so malleable, on the outside anyway. He’s proved far more delightfully rigid on the inside, his convictions so firm that it’s like a challenge each time Garak tries to shake them.

 He’d prefer to focus on those things and not the soulmate he sent to a labor camp a decade ago.

 “You’ll have to talk to him.” Julian’s voice is soft but not quite a whisper as he slides his arm around Garak’s waist. Julian presses a quick kiss to the side of Garak’s jaw, just above one of his more sensitive ridges. Garak doesn’t deserve this solace, the salvation and light that Julian has come to represent for him these past few years. Even after some shades of grey bled their way into Julian from wounds in the shape of internment camps and Luther Sloan, enough of the good remains. Julian pulls away just enough to look him in the eyes, gaze soft and worried as he grabs and squeezes Garak’s hand. “I can go with you.”

 “That’s very kind of you, my dear, but I think this is a confrontation I have to make by myself.” Garak tells him with a hint of a smile leaning over to press a quick kiss to the corner of Julian’s mouth. Something he can’t name enters Julian’s gaze, that makes him look more than ever like a Terran deer, but it’s so fleeting Garak doesn’t give it any importance. Instead he focuses on the kind, reassuring smile and the way Julian rolls to his feet, already telling stories of his work that Garak only half listens to.

 Tomorrow Garak will face the crime that’s imprinted on his forearm like a brand.

*****

 Garak walks into the makeshift office, tables and shelves filled with medical supplies and tools pressed up against each wall. In the middle of the room stands Kelas Parmak, older than the last time Garak saw him, any black gone from his hair and more wrinkles around his mouth.  

 But mostly Kelas looks like the same man he met in the interrogation room, whose mark blossomed onto his wrist and warmth in his soul. Who Elim forced into confession anyway.

 “Doctor Parmak, it’s … good to see you again. I imagine you can’t say the same about me.” Garak calls with a brittle smile, every ridge on his face tense with the effort of trying to keep his expression even keel. Kelas meets his gaze, bright blue eyes unreadable for a moment. Then for a brief second shock fills them and just a touch of fear, enough to make Garak flinch at the price his actions have cost him.

 Then that’s gone too and something Garak couldn’t have expected enters Kelas’ gaze. Relief.

 “To the contrary, I’m quite happy to see you alive. There aren’t many of us left. Any face is a welcome one.” Kelas tells him as his voice takes on a note of solemnity, gaze softening as he glances off into the distance. Garak swallows tightly, turning a bit to follow the man’s gaze out the window, staring at the mountains of rubble that hide bodies everywhere.

Then Kelas flicks his gaze back to Garak, a hint of a smile on his face even as his gaze fills with a strange mix of hurt and curiosity. It reminds him a bit of Julian. “And despite everything, I did want to meet you again, if only to try and understand why.”

 Garak has weaved 100s, maybe even thousands of stories for this moment, each one their own unique shade of true and beautifully ornamented with only the sweetest lies. But no, Kelas Parmark deserves the plain, simple truth, no matter how cold it is. “I did what I thought was best for the State and for Cardassia at the time.”

 “And now?” Kelas raises an eye ridge, one hand pressing against the table between them, tools laid out between them. Tools they’ve both used, Kelas to heal and Garak to hurt. Garak stares at them and then at Kelas, who holds no judgment in his eyes.

 “Now I’ve come to see that some of our methods were imperfect, our distrust as often a downfall as a boon.” Garak’s voice takes on a grim note, both for the years of happiness, of freedom he robbed himself and Kelas of, and more so for what he and the rest have stolen from Cardassia. It’s men like Kelas who saw their methods for what they were. “I am sorry, for what I did to you and for the time you spent in the labor camps. You’re a decent man, a man with heart. Cardassia needs more men like you than it does me now. Maybe it always did.”

 “I think it needs men like both of us.” Kelas’s voice is hesitant but warm, and he gazed up at Garak with an equal mixture of hope and wariness. Garak can’t help mirroring his expression, swallowing a little as he takes his left hand in his. The marks on their wrists brush against each other, the warmth of the bond going through him. It’s different than Julian’s, softer and heavier, less exuberant but no less powerful. “I forgive you. I want us to work together in aiding Cardassia and in time, well who knows what the westerly winds shall bring?”

 Garak can’t help grinning fondly when he hears the words of Takil Fanor spread across the air, truly one of Cardassians finest elegists. Kelas raises an eyebrow and Garak takes his hand again, voice soft. “Roots of things long forgotten, buried beneath the frost of contempt and memories.”

 “You know your poetry well.” Kelas smiles softly at him and doesn’t pull his hand away. It’s as good a start as any.

 ******

 Garak expects to be doing all kind of grueling and undignified work in the rebuilding of Cardassia, the digging of trenches for irrigation and lifting of stone and debris. Garak just didn’t expect doctors to be put to the same work, and while he can’t see what Julian does day in and day out, he can see Kelas struggling under the weight of heavy stone. He doesn’t like it.

 “Should you be moving such heavy stones, Doctor?” Garak tries to hide the concern of his words, not yet sure if Kelas would appreciate or accept it from him. They are friends now, but Garak still keeps a certain, respectful distance. He must let Kelas make each move forward and set the pace of their relationship. Garak glances down at Kelas’ hands, currently bent at odd angles across a dusty slab of stone. “We need to protect your hands. The future of who knows how many Cardassians depends on them.”

 Kelas gives him a smile that manages to be appreciative and teasing at the same time, shaking his head a bit as he walks past Garak. He sets the piece of marble down with the rest of the pile, leaning it on a more jagged obsidian shard, a small grey stone lying between them.

 Kelas turns around and gives Garak a wry smile, his hand coming up to reach out towards Garak’s shoulder. Garak raises an eye ridge, surprised at the comforting touch on his arm. They’ve kept a certain amount of space between them, until now. “A kind thought, but I assure you an unnecessary one. My hands have seen a near decade of labor. A few months more won’t keep them from their true purpose anymore than they did before.”

 Garak can’t quite the slight intake of breath at Kelas’ words, not quite a flinch. There’s no judgment in Kelas’ voice, none of the bitterness that he fully deserves. There’s only a calm understanding, a knowledge of where he’s been and what he went through there, how it carved Kelas from a meya lily to a Ithian tree. “No, I can’t imagine you’d let something as insignificant as a few pieces of rubble stand between you and your work. You doctors really are all alike.”

 “Or maybe you just have a very narrow type.” Kelas’ voice is light and teasing as he presses their shoulders together. Garak meets his wry grin with one of his own, and tries not to compare the two halves of his soul to one another.

 “Maybe that too.” Garak admits with a wry smile, squeezing Kelas’ hand back hesitantly. Kelas doesn’t pull his hand away, instead squeezing it back so the scales along their wrist rub against each other. Garak meets Kelas’’ gaze, swallowing tightly as the tension rises between them alongside the heat. “Julian and I talked about it, and he’s all right with you and I being physically romantic, if that’s something you’re interested in. I understand if it’s not.”

 “That interests me very much, my dear Elim.” Kelas leans in before Garak can say anything else, his mouth pressing against his. The kiss is soft and chaste, more of a promise of things to come than anything else. Garak relishes in a future he never could have hoped for but has gotten nonetheless.

*****

 Garak takes Kelas by the hand after their shift two months after they first met and three days after their first kiss, crossing the small, barely defined paths shaped by different crews during their work. Garak likes to imagine that one day they’ll be paved with glittering stone and lead to homes and schools, towering monuments to the good men and women they’ve lost.

 And maybe somewhere along those paved roads will be his own home with Julian and Kelas, built together with their own hands, a medical office on one side of the house and a garden on the other. He can imagine it now, he and Julian bantering in the garden while Kelas watches them from the shade, or the three of them curled up on the couch together debating literature and music.

 But that is the future, and for now their monuments are small and almost invisible. They’re hills of broken stone and clay that each hold within them the promise of memories and songs of grief, every pile a life. And now Garak has added his own. He didn’t understand what Kelas truly meant about honoring the past until he started adding rock by rock in the place where Mila died, each one a reminder of the woman who shaped him into the man he is now.

 “I’ve been thinking about what you said, about honoring the past that we’ve lost beneath the rubble. At first I thought it was all nonsense, that I would rebuild what I had lost stone by stone.” Garak murmurs as he brings them to a stop in front of the mound. He squeezes Kelas’ hand softly, pulling him closer so their bodies brush against each other. Garak begins the funeral rites and after a moment Kelas joins with him, voices blending together.

 “I realized you were right. The Cardassia I knew is gone. We must rise up and be reborn into something new. But we cannot forget the world that shaped us either, nor the people that we loved. I understand now why you sing.”

 Kelas leans in and presses their lips together, skin cool and chapped against his own. Garak lets himself melt into the kiss, one hand coming up to run through Kelas’ braid, the white hair twisting around his finger tips. When he pulls his hand away, he finds that there’s a new line on his second mark, a rich amber spreading out toward the indigo and purple blossoms in the center. Kelas looks at him, gaze adoring in a way he doesn’t deserve. Elim.”

 “This is for Mila.” Garak says even though it’s not necessary. There’s no one else here to mourn, Tain buried with Julian by his side and Tolan gone for ages. He stares down at the stones and remembers Mila and her sharp tongue and worried eyes, the way she used to kiss him on the forehead every morning as a child. Garak remembers and is glad he’s not alone.

 “It’s beautiful.” Kelas tells him in an almost reverent whisper, leaning up so he can press his palm against Garak’s one, their fingers perfectly in line and the marks on their wrist shining in the cool night of the moon. Then Kelas frowns, gaze worried and just a touch guilty as he looks past Garak toward the road to his shed. “He should have been there. Julian. It’s not fair for you to share that moment with only one of us.”

 Garak stills at his words, gaze following Kelas’ eyes to the shed where Julian sits and waits for him, the same way he has every night Garak’s spent getting to know Kelas among the rubble. Suddenly his Mark is throbbing a little, the distance between him and Julian feeling further than it should. how embarrassing Kelas noticed before him. “You’re right.”

*****

 Garak waits a few days before he brings up the inevitable and the necessary, watching Julian from the couch and feeling his chest tighten a bit. 

 “I’m quite the two of you would get along wonderfully, my dear.” Garak leans over the back of their loveseat and grips the side of Julian’s padd, tugging on it until the other man finally glances up at him. Julian raises an eyebrow and gives Garak a flat look. Garak’s not sure if it’s because of his sudden change of heart or because he’s interrupting the trill novel Ezri was kind enough to send them in her most recent care package. “He is the most charming man, once you get to know him.”

 “Yes, the hospital staff I’m working with have been quite adamant on that point as well. I have very little doubt he’s a good man. but you haven’t wanted us to meet for almost three months, what’s changed?” Julian asks in a clipped voice as he lets go of the padd entirely, Garak gracefully twisting around so he can fill the space between Julian and the rest of the couch. Julian glances up at him, gaze equal parts curious and wary, a hint of tension along his jaw.

 Garak leans in and brushes a quick kiss to the side of Julian’s jaw line, nipping at the skin until some of the tension fades from his muncles. Julian meets his gaze and swallows tightly, a hint of guilt entering his eyes that Garak can’t quite understand. “You’re both my soulmates. I want you to have a relationship as well.”

 “And I’m sure we will someday, Garak. But I need a little more time before I watch you be intimate with someone else.” Julian smiles stiffly, gaze apologetic and rueful. Garak swallows tightly, trying to hide the slight stab of guilt that goes down his spine. He’s handled this poorly. He should have involved Julian from the start once he knew Kelas was interested in anything romantic between them.

Now he spends most of his days and parts of his nights with Kelas, while Julian is alone on a strange planet where people’s first instinct is to distrust and despise him. Of course he must feel neglected and a touch resentful, even if he wouldn’t voice it.

 Ignoring Julian for the good of Cardassia was one that, but it was quite another to do it because he got too caught up in Kelas’ gentle smile and kind eyes.

 Garak leans over and brushes a thumb across Julian’s lips, letting the brighter, less solid warmth of their bond rush over him. It’s not the same as Kelas’, but Garak finds it just as intoxicating. Garak grins, eyebrows pressing together and lips curling into a smirk.“I seem to remember you being quite fond of the idea on Deep Space 9.”

 “I didn’t mean sexually.” Julian huffs as he pushes Garak’s hand away from his mouth, but there is a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he suddenly brings a leg up to toss it across Garak’s thighs. Still there’s a tension to the air, a loneliness in spite of them both being in the room together. They both only have a few hours of rest and sleep before their next shifts, no time for playful debates on literature or cuddling together while listening to Cardassian and Terran classical music, no shared meals.

 Their relationship feels strangely disjointed here, emptied of the things that used to define it. Garak needs to fix that. Maybe he can ask Kelas for advice. He seems better at this kind of domesticity than Garak, who has only ash and ever dimming memories of Tolan as examples.  “I know.”

*****

 Garak and Kelas use their lunch break to curl together on a large slab of rock, the warm sun spreading out and warming their skin. Kelas is cataloguing their marks, as though he hasn’t committed them to memory yet or as though he expects to find a new shade every time he looks down.

 “It’s violet now, swirling and spiraling out through the other colors.” Kelas’ voice sounds amazed, as though he hasn’t seen 100s of thousands of marks in process during his work as a doctor. But Garak supposes it’s different to see the colors blossoming on your own skin, to see purple spring forth from grey. God knows he’s been equally moved by each new color of Kelas’ he’s gotten.

 “I can see that, my dear doctor.” Garak murmurs as he runs his hand across the inside of Kelas wrist, his Ken boldly visible. In the past he would’ve covered it up, but this is a new Cardassia, where hope is needed as much as duty. And no one has more hope than Kelas Parmak. “So much Yellow, Kelas. Careful, that much optimism is improper in a Cardassian.”

 “Maybe I’m just overflowing with joy.” Kelas quips with a hint of a smile, gaze playful as he meets Garak’s own.

 Garak can’t help scoffing at that, shaking his a bit so a few strands of hair fall across his face. Kelas night he older now, but he’s still just as sensitive and prone to bouts of melancholy. They’re just quieter than his or Julian’s. “I’ve heard enough of the music you like to know that isn’t true.”

 Kelas laughs warmly, gaze softening in a way that makes Elim’s chest feel warm. He glances down at his mark on the insides of his wrist. Kelas and Julian both have so much pink, almost too much, but they look nothing alike. Kelas’ is soft and subdued, gentle in color, more of a peach than anything else. Julian’s is a bold magenta, visible and bleeding into all the other colors of his mark like it can’t be contained. “Elim?”

 “Your shade of pink is different than Julian’s.” Garak murmurs as he presses a kiss to Kelas’s neck ridge, squeezing his hand. He doesn’t say which one he prefers.

 *****

 Garak schedules his one, enforced day off to align with Julian’s, both of them curling together in bed, taking turns getting new books of poetry and cups of tea. Julian’s body is warm where it’s pressed up against his own, narrow limbs fitting just a bit too easily into between his own. He’ll have to remember to sneak him more food at some point.

 Julian smiles widely, almost so much that it borders on the painful, the skin around his eye crinkling as he runs it across the inside of his wrist. Garak follows his hands, fingers carefully touching each shade of blue - Kelas has more blue than either of them - and spots of pink and a new soft yellow, following them down to blossoming purple in the same shade as the one for Garak on Julian’s palm. “It’s half filled already, Elim. That’s so much faster than ours lined up. It took months just to get one color out of you.”

 “Well, you were young and unbearably naive and I was more harsh then, dear.” Garak reminds him with a wry grin, leaning over to nip at his ear. He surreptitiously glances at Julian’s face when the other man thinks he’s not looking, trying to find hints of the jealousy or annoyance that he expects. Instead he finds something resigned that doesn’t belong in Julian’s face. “Things would be different if we met now.”

 “Yes, you’d still be harsh and I’d still be unbearable.” Julian quips with a bright smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, despite Julian’s best efforts. His smile falters after a moment, gaze dropping from Garak’s eyes to Elim’s Mark for him. He traces the magenta, bright and loud and a sharp contrast to the peach of Kelas’ pink. Then he lets out a laugh, sharp and a little too loud and very _Julian_. “Though I suppose the second never really changed, did it?”

 “You really should meet him.” Garak says instead of any kind of answer. He’s never quite sure what to do when his smug, proud Julian slides into these bouts of self-pity, gaze far away and filled with a guilt that Garak can’t begin to understand the source of.

 Garak is masterful with words, but they never seem to work here, so instead he pulls Julian close, pressing kisses along the side of his neco. Julian looks up at him with a small smile, weak but loving at the same time. “All right, I will.”

* * *

  Julian isn’t sure how him tentatively agreeing to meeting Kelas led to Garak inviting him over for the weekend the very next day. But here they are, waiting nervously for Kelas Parmak for what Julian imagines are very different reasons.

 Julian lets out a small laugh, wrapping his arms around Elim’s waist from behind and resting his head on his shoulder. It’s bizarre, watching him fret over his date with another man, but there was something pleasantly familiar about seeing Garak fuss over flower arrangements and how many pillows were on the loveseat.

 Julian kisses him on the cheek, gently tugging Garak’s hands away from the blossoms. “You don’t need to worry so much, your orchids are quite lovely. And even if they weren’t, I can’t imagine Dr. Parmak has seen many flowers these past few months.”

 “I know you have no sense of aesthetic, my dear doctor, but I thought you had some sense of romance.” Garak lets out a low sigh as though disappointed in him, though Julian thinks the effect is rather ruined by the way Garak brings his free hand up to lightly grip his jaw. The other one curls around the back of his neck, and Julian leans into the kiss at the exact moment Garak does. His lips are a bit more chapped than a few days ago, rough against his skin in the nicest of ways.

 “Trust me, my dear Tailor, I very much do. My idea of romance just involves less flowers and more reciting of poetry by a fan set on high.” Julian murmurs against his lips, fingers sliding down Garak’s solid back and down towards his ass. Garak raises an eye ridge, shaking his head a little as a small smirk comes over his face. He nips the side of Julian’s ear at the same time he squeezes Elim’s ass, Elim’s own hand coming down to lightly tap his own in retaliation.  

 Garak pulls away from him then, glancing at the table he’s carefully curated for Kelas. There’s small bowls of aytlik broth, and a platter of feyt Julian’s proud to note he made. He’s gotten quite good at cooking since he arrived on Cardassia. Still, Garak looks displeased, hand hovering across the pitcher with a tight frown. “Do you think we should make some more Rokassa juice?”

 “Are we trying to drive him away?” Julian wrinkles his nose as he leans over the pitcher. He loves Elim dearly, but he’ll never understand how anyone could come to crave fish juice. Cardassians truly were mysterious.

 “Unlike you, Dr. Parmak has the refined palate of a true Cardassian.” Garak corrects him with a dismissive wave of the hand, not even bothering to look at him. It's not the first time that Elim’s compared them and found Julian wanting compared to Kelas Parmak, not Cardassian enough or charming enough or as strong.

 Julian swallows a little and tries to remind himself that jealousy will help nothing. Garak has another soulmate and that’s all there is to it. He has to learn to live with it.

 Julian forces a smile on his face that feels a touch too brittle to be believable. His voice comes out with a strange cadence, like he’s trying to bury something in his throat and speak at the same time. “Of course he is. How could I have ever thought anything else?”

 “Julian?” Garak’s voice takes on a note of concern, a hand brushing against his wrist hesitantly. So he was right about the smile. Julian’s going to have to try a bit harder here if he doesn’t want all of his insecurities spilling out into the fish juice.

 “Just make sure to make some Tarkalan tea for me, dear.” Julian’s grin is real enough this time, tender as he leans down to press a kiss to Elim’s forehead. This is not about him, it’s about Elim and Kelas. His role here is to accept and support Elim, whatever that might end up meaning for him. Garak runs a hand across his mark on is palm.

 “You both enjoy that.” Garak tells him with a hint of a smile, apparently not done with comparing them yet. At least tea is something they share. He’d like to imagine that someday - hopefully someday soon - he’ll be ready to sit and drink tea with Kelas, both comfortable in the knowledge that they both love the same man.  

 Then the doorbell rings.  

Julian feels his spine stiffen as the door chimes, not feeling prepared even though they’ve been planning this little soiree for days. Julian’s seen Kelas from afar, heard stories of his sensitivity and charm from nurses and Elim, but meeting him in his person is something else entirely. Julian takes a deep breath and reminds himself that Kelas isn’t a rival. He’s a part of Elim’s life he has to accept.

 Julian turns to Elim with a warm grin, taking in the slight hint of nervousness in the tense set of his mouth. Julian takes Elim’s arm and tries to make his gaze reassuring. Today is the first time Elim’s brought Kelas into his home, and he’s sure that has as much significance on Cardassia as everything else. “He’s here. I suppose you should get the door, What with him being your soulmate and all.”

 Garak doesn’t say anything but just tilts his head to the left slightly, taking a few careful steps toward the door. Julian follows him but stays a few steps behind Elim, not wanting to intrude on their meeting. He swallows tightly when the door slides open and he takes in Kelas Parmak.

 Kelas is close to Garak’s age, tall and firmly built, less compact than Garak but still with the strong muscles and well-padded frame common to the Cardassian frame. His hair is an almost shockingly bright white, long and braided and falling over his shoulder elegantly. His scales are thick and a slightly lighter grey, and Julian can tell they’d be firm if he touched them. His face is handsome,a mix of sharp angles and smooth lines with wrinkles along his mouth and eyes that make him look distinguished.

 But more than anything, his expression is kind, gaze filling with tenderness as he glances down at Elim. Elim smiles and takes Kelas’ arm, leading him into the living room until the three of them are pressed together in front of the couch.  “Kelas, what a pleasure to finally have you here. Let me take your coat, dear.”

 “He’s going to try and surreptitiously fix any tears you’ve gotten over the past few months.” Julian warns him with a playful smile, wiggling his eyebrows back and forth. This whole situation might be strange, but that’s no reason not to be friendly.

 Garak makes an affronted noise that Julian ignores with a bright smile, one he’s surprised to find Kelas sharing in, the same warm affection in his gaze that Julian feels steeped deep in his soul.

 Julian finds that the look makes him adore Kelas Parmak and despise him just a little at the same time. Adore because he is what Elim deserves, a compassionate man who survives rather than falters, who stands by his convictions, who doesn’t have blood on his hands. Despise a little because once Julian thought he’d be that man and now that he’s not, he’s not quite sure where he fits in Elim’s life, Mark on his wrist be damned. “I’m Julian Bashir.”

 “Kelas Parmak.” Kelas holds his hand out and Julian can’t help but glance away from his right to his left, taking in the purple swirls outlined with silver, touches of indigo and a deep grey along the edges. _Elim._ Julian swallows harshly and takes Kelas’ hand, gaze still locked onto Kelas’ mark. Kelas suddenly has a sharp intake of breath, and Julian blinks owlishly, gaze flicking up to meet an awed gaze. “Sometimes Fate really is kind in unexpected ways.”

 Julian tilts his head to the right, biting his lip as he scrunches his face up. He’s not exactly sure how fate’s being kind to anyone here but Elim. Julian gazes at Elim, but finds Elim staring with wide eyes and a borderline slack-jawed expression at where his hand is still intertwined with Kelas’ own.

 Julian glances down and feels his heart stop for a moment, his entire sense of self coming to a sudden halt. There on the inside of his right wrist is a new mark, carefully outlined with blooms and vines twisting together, rising up towards an invisible sky. The same mark lies on Kelas’ wrist as well, mirroring his.

 But there’s no bond. Julian doesn’t feel anything, no spark, no sense of belonging or glow. Nothing. This is a mistake. “Elim, can I talk to you in the bedroom for a second.

 Julian doesn’t wait for Elim to answer, walking across the room to their bedroom. Elim steps in, expression still stunned enough that he doesn’t react when Julian pulls the door half shut. It’s as much privacy as they can get until they have time to fix the bolts. It doesn’t matter, Kelas already knows what he does about their broken marks.

 Elim stares at him with wide eyes, a stunned expression on his face that’s slowly being overtaken by a bizarre mixture of exuberance and hurt. Garak brushes Julian’s cheek and then the strange new mark on his wrist, empty of colors but clearly outlined for the world to see. Julian swallows at the way Garak smiles at it, awed and soft in a way he’s going to have to completely destroy. “Julian, I don’t know how soulbond etiquette for a second partner works in the Federation, but here that was rude.”

 “He’s not my soulmate - it must be something like a Klingon bondmate mark.” Julian mutters as he presses lips into a thin line, not even believing the words spilling from his own lips. Still, it’s the only explanation he has so far for why he’d gain a new mark with no bond. The only other possibility would be something psychosomatic,

 “Julian, you’re not Klingon.” Garak gives him a disbelieving look, pressing his eye ridges together as though trying to figure out if Julian is making some kind of joke. Julian wishes he was, that would be better than this, to be somehow broken or to have his mutated DNA betraying him or God knows what else is causing the creation of a false bond.

 “I’m as much Klingon as I am Cardassian!” Julian snaps with his voice rising half an octave, hands gesticulating in the air as though he’s batting at imaginary spiderwebs. Julian closes his eyes and takes a few short breaths, his entire body feeling hot and overwhelmed as too many emotions to name rises in his chest. “Garak, I didn’t feel anything!”

 “How strange, I did.” Julian stills at the voice and slowly turns around at to find himself face to face with Kelas Parmak.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Julian gets in his own way, Garak takes things a little too fast without realizing it, and Kelas is more emotionally aware than both of them out together.

Garak feels relief spread from his shoulders and down his spine at Kelas’ words, even as Julian keeps shaking his head adamantly. Garak swallows a scoff; Julian’s stubborn, but not even he can deny the reality of a soul bond forever.

 “What do you mean, you felt something?” Julian’s voice is tight as he widens his eyes, flexing his hands a few times. Julian takes a step back, gaze flicking between them wildly. It finally settles on Kelas, Julian’s words come out too fast, blending together as his mind clearly tries to cover every possibility in one go. “As in a bond formation or a spark? The latter is actually related to false connectivity in Trill bond structure. Usually there’s the involvement of a Symbiont but -“

 “Julian, maybe you should let Kelas answer your question before you give him an entire history of Trill soul bonds.” Garak cuts Julian off before he can explain the differences in substance and shape of Symbiont bond marks compared to ones held by unmarked trills. Julian gives him a flat look, crossing his arms against his chest, annoyance momentarily overcoming the confusion and fear in his gaze.

 But only momentarily.

 Kelas smiles awkwardly, holding his hands in front of them. Julian stares at them, and Garak can see him cataloguing the callouses alongside the lines and curves of the mark. Kelas clears his throat a little, gaze nervous as he meets Julian’s own. “Though I wouldn’t mind hearing about that later.”

 Doctors.

 “Well?” Julian’s voice is clipped and impatient, frustration bleeding into his tone at the same time fear started to cloud his gaze again. He really couldn’t stand not understanding things.

 “It was different than the one I have with Elim.” Kelas says softly, expression growing tender as he glances between his new mark and Julian. Julian flushes slightly, hands clenching and unclenching into fists. Garak slides a hand over the mark on Julian’s palm, trying to steady him as much as he can. “Brighter, almost sparking, and less solid.”

 “That sounds similar to my bond with Julian as well.” Garak just barely resists the urge to audibly sigh in relief, the tension slowly building in his shoulders fading just a bit. So there is some sort of bond between them, even if Julian doesn’t recognize it as such.

 Except Julian looks no more convinced, shaking his head a bit as he takes a step back toward the bed. He closes his eyes, eyebrows scrunched together. Garak can practically see the calculations flashing behind his eyelids, all the possible explanations for why only one of them would feel a bond.

 Garak hopes Julian’s ideas are more positive than the ones coming to Garak’s mind.

 “It might be bleedover. It’s not uncommon for people with two bonded partners to allow some of their emotions on both sides to bleed through.” Julian’s tone borders on the desperate, hands moving  wildly through the air and nearly knocking over their end table. Julian smiles widely and tries to look smug, but Garak can see the uncertainty in his gaze and the tension in the corners of his mouth.

 “That wouldn’t explain the marks on our arms.” Kelas reminds him softly, expression almost gentle as he brushes his thumb along his own, Julian unthinkingly mirroring the gesture.

 Garak can’t help smiling a little at that, and then wider and wider as the truth hits him. Whatever’s going on here, it’s not because Julian and Kelas aren’t connected. The three of them are all meant for each other. Julian just needs to fix his wiring. “He’s right, Julian. There is clearly a connection between you and Kelas.”

 “But I don’t feel it.” Julian huffs in a tone that borders on the petulant, biting his lip as he glances down at the mark.

 “Maybe it’s related to the distance between the two of you. You haven’t spent any time together.” Garak suggests cautiously, eyes flashing a bit. He thinks of an old fable about enemy Guls who thought each other over the course of decades, only to learn they were soulmates when one was captured by the enemy camp. It’s rare, but soulmate bonds not immediately taking root _did_ happen _._

 “Bonds are supposed to be instant.” Julian mutters in the same tone as before, gaze defeated as he leans against their wall. Garak can’t tell if that’s a good sign for him or not, if he’s defeated because he can’t find a good scientific argument or because he doesn’t believe in the bond. He’s not sure it matters; Julian will bounce back with twice as much determination as before. He always does.

 “You’ve always been special.” Garak reminds him with a bright smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek and then Kelas’, some of the hope from before burning bright in his chest again. He can have them both and they can have each other. There will be no war here.

 Julian merely glowers at him, though his gaze comes off more pleading than anything else. He takes a few steps toward the bed, voice ragged when he speaks. “So what do you suggest?”

 “That Kelas keeps coming for dinner, for a start.” Garak suggests carefully, taking in both their expressions with as much neutrality as possible. It was traditional in Cardassian culture for bonded partners to move in together right after their sending party. But Garak hadn’t shared quarters with Julian until the Defiant and there’s hardly anyone to celebrate their bond. Waiting at least until Julian feels _something_ seems the better idea.

 Kelas favors his idea with a faint smile. “If Julian is all right with that, I wouldn’t mind.”

 “It couldn’t hurt, and besides then you two can spend more time together. It must get boring, doing nothing but working together.” Julian says with the same stiff grin from before, hands shaking ever so slightly. Kelas glances down at them with a tight frown, gaze filling with concern. He leans over and presses a gentle kiss to the side of Elim’s cheek, brushing a hand over first the mark on his left wrist and then his right.

 Elim gives him a curt nod, mind still caught somewhere between exhilaration and terror. It’s not until Kelas leaves, the lock on their making the familiar chime that Julian collapses into their bed with a sound that borders on a whimpers and his hands sliding up the side of his face.

When Garak meets his gaze from across the room, all he finds is despair.

*****

 Garak gazes at where Julian sits on the hard floor of their shed, legs crossed and head propped one one hand. His body is bent at what feels like an unnatural angle, back like a bow. The tea and bread he made for dinner sits next to him, the same way it has for the past hour. Never let it be said that Julian would let little things like survival get in the way of his research. “Julian, your tea is going to get cold if you don’t start drinking it soon.”

 “Hmm? Sorry, Elim. This study on false bond formation due to Borg nanobyte particles is _fascinating.”_ Julian explains with a crooked smile, eyes lighting up as they scanned the pages with a speed that would shock even most Cardassians. Julian stops when he gets to a certain page, biting the side of his lip as he furiously types out several notes.

 Normally Garak finds this dedication to his research endearing, if not a tad worrying on the occasions when Julian let it overcome the other parts of his life like food and sleep. But now Garak is afraid of every half smile or delighted cry, not sure if they’re simply born of scientific curiosity or Julian finding proof that he doesn’t belong to Elim and Kelas after all.

 “Is it?” Garak asks in a sharp voice, leaning forward and raising an eye ridge carefully. Julian glances up at him from behind the padd, expression slightly sheepish. “You realize you’ve never come into contact with them, yes?”

 “Of course, but that doesn’t make the study any less enjoyable to read.” Julian huffs as he types out a few notes on his padd. Then he presses it shut, leaning forward until his head rests on Garak’s knee. Garak scoffs in frustration, but he runs his hands through Julian’s soft hair anyway, massaging his temples.

 Garak swallows tightly as he tugs on Julian’s hair just enough for the other man to get the message, gracefully unfolding his body and sliding to his feet in seconds. Julian climbs onto the couch next to him, and finally, blessedly, picks up his tea. Garak presses a hand to cheek carefully. “So you won’t keep trying to prove your bond with Kelas as fake or a sign of illness.”

 “Don’t worry Garak, I’ve barely started my research.” Julian answers with a smile that is both contrite and resolved. He takes another long sip of his tea while Garak stares at their white wall and wonders how long it will take to break down whatever new walls Julian’s trying to put up.

*****

 Garak plans their first courting with exacting standards, making Tarkalean tea and finding as much soft bread as he can at the marketplace. The table even has orchids carefully placed in a vase by the time Kelas arrives for breakfast. Everything is perfect, except that Julian isn’t there.

 Garak and Kelas find Julian sitting by the garden, back pressed against the wall and limbs at an angle that can’t possibly be comfortable. His eyes are glued to a padd, hands flicking across the screen with an intensity Garak knows just a little too well. “Julian, did you even go to sleep last night?”

 Julian waves him off with one hand, not even looking back as he makes several notes on his padd with his other hand. Kelas raises an eye ridge as he looks at him, pursing his lips in clear disapproval. Garak blinks a little at that. He hadn’t thought Kelas was so easily offended. That might be a sore spot for him and Julian, once they get over their current one. “Hmm, no, I was a bit busy with these calculations.”

 “And they couldn’t wait a day?” Garak’s voice is cool and frustrated as he takes in the lines of Julian’s back and now that he’s closer, the slight shake of his hands. He doesn’t look well.

 “Of course not, Elim. You should know better than anyone how exciting a good mystery is!” Julian answers back in a voice that borders on manic, born of a combination of genuine passion and several days, maybe even longer of too little sleep and food. Garak won’t be surprised at all if he finds out that Julian’s been skipping lunch to take on extra patients.

 “I think he’d be more excited if the mystery wasn’t making you do such unhealthy things.” Kelas’ voice is as light as his expression isn’t, gaze stern as he takes a few more steps towards Julian. Julian stiffens, slowly turning around with wide, betrayed eyes. As though Garak and Kelas are the ones who got so caught up in trying to prove they weren’t tied to Julian they forgot to sleep.

 Julian tilts his head to the left, grimacing a bit as he takes in their fastidious clothes. Julian might have the aesthetic sense of a Vorta, but he does hate looking underdressed or unprofessional. “Kelas? What are you - you and Elim are having breakfast, of course. I’m sorry to interrupt.”

 “ _We’re_ having breakfast, Julian.” Garak corrects him, annoyance entering his voice as he gives the other man a sharp look. He has no time for games and Julian has no business skipping meals.

 “I’m sorry to say I’ll have to miss this one, I really think I might be making a breakthrough here.” Julian makes the same dismissive gesture as before, gaze sliding down back to his padd as he rolls to his feet. He walks through their front door and starts for the bedroom when a hand grips his shoulder, firm and fitting perfectly.

 The only surprising thing is that it’s Kelas’, not Garak’s.

 “And eating might help get you there. Sometimes you can’t make a breakthrough until you’ve let your mind rest and let your body replenish its strength.” Kelas’ tone has a slightly chiding quality to it, one of his eye ridges going up as he takes in the dark circles under Julian’s eyes and the way his limbs have grown a bit too angular.

 Julian’s eyes widen a bit at Kelas’ words, looking up to find Kelas watching him with the same reproachful look Garak’s become accustomed to when he carries too much rubble or skips breaks in favor of digging into the ground in search of water. Julian clearly isn’t used to being on the other side of such an expression, wilting slightly as his shoulders pull together.

 He sets his padd aside with a little more force than necessary, walking to the couch and sitting between them - the only space left - with a bit of a huff. Then, as though remembering who else is here besides them, Julian’s eyes flash with embarrassment that he tries to cover up with a smile that’s so obviously fake Garak has to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. “Yes, you aren’t the only doctor here, Parmak.”

* * *

 Kelas walks toward Elim’s shed while holding onto Elim’s arm just a hair too tightly, his free hand mussing and then patting down the front of his vest every few seconds. He’s sure it’s driving Elim insane, but the other man hides it well, expression perfectly calm. Kelas can’t understand why, considering what they’re about to do.

Having dinner when Julian was merely Garak’s other soulmate was hard enough, doing it now that he knows Julian is _his_ as well is far more nerve wracking.

 Especially given that Kelas knows that Julian so badly doesn’t want to be his soulmate that he’s risking his well-being to find ways to prove the bond false. Kelas - he can learn to live with a soulmate that doesn’t love him, doesn’t want him. He can’t live with Julian taking such little care with his own health. Suddenly Garak squeezes his arm, pulling him from his thoughts. “You don’t need to look so nervous, dear. Julian might not be the best cook, but he’s hardly going to poison either of us.”

 “I’m not nervous because of that. He doesn’t want this.” Kelas can’t quite keep a layer of hurt out of his voice, straightening his vest out one last time as they come to a full stop in front of Elim’s and Julian’s shed. This is their home, what Kelas would like to be his home soon but likely never will be. The sight makes his heart something missing? a bit.

 “Don’t be ridiculous, he doesn’t know what he wants. He doesn’t know you.” Elim assures him as he leans in and presses a quick kiss to the side of his jaw, hands digging into the lapels of his vest. Kelas sighs into the kiss and decides not to remind Elim of whose fault that partially is.

 “Yes, and he seems to have no interest in getting to know me, if all his research into false bonds is any indication.” Kelas’ voice is dry, even as he shakes his head back and forth to try and chase away the fears flitting across his mind. It’s not entirely possible Julian’s wrong about that. False bonds do occur, and just because Kelas has never heard of anyone having a mark as a symptom of one doesn’t mean he and Julian couldn’t be the first.

 He doesn’t want that. Kelas has only felt that exuberant warmth twice, sparkling and almost ephemeral. It’s still enough to know he wants to feel it for as long as they all have left, Julian’s light spiking along the more steady heat of Garak’s bond.

 “Julian often questions everything before realizing that the most simple answer is the right one.” Elim’s voice is a strange mix of affection and frustration, smile fonder than it was a moment ago as he talks about Julian. Kelas can’t help but share in it. “Once he exhausts his options, he’ll be more than happy to explore less scientific explanations for the new mark on his arm.”

 Kelas suspects that the issue might be more complicated than Elim lets on, if the sudden tension around the ridges on his neck is anything to go by. Elim’s described Julian as ‘the greatest challenge of his life’ and while Elim meant the term affectionately, Kelas has to admit it gives him pause. He’s never been the type of man to want a difficult love.

 Still, he finds himself drawn to Julian and his elven looks and sprightly smiles nonetheless. Enough to make him wrap his hand around the doorknob and take a deep breath, giving Elim a slight smile. “We can only hope.”

 Then Kelas pushes the door open, his eyes meeting Julian’s across the small space of the shed. Julian is wearing his strange tunic-like garment, legs bare in a way that would have been indecent on the old Cardassia. Kelas can’t help drinking them in for a moment, each elegantly long and toned, all muscle and bone.

 Then Kelas remembers himself and forces himself to meet Julian’s eyes. They’re cracking with emotions, cheeks slightly flushed even as he smiles with a sardonic knowing.

 “Welcome home, Elim, Dr. Parmak.” Julian smiles politely and just a touch primly, taking a few steps over to doorway so he can press a quick kiss to Elim’s cheek. Kelas, in sharp contrast, is only rewarded with a polite smile and nod.

 Kelas just narrowly avoids the flinch he can feel in his bones, reminding himself Julian has yet to feel any connection between them. There’s no tie for him between them except Elim, and he’s being perfectly correct there. Kelas keeps his voice even as he favors Julian with a nervous smile. “You can call me Kelas, if you like, Dr. Bashir.”

 “I believe that’s reserved for intimate friends on Cardassia.” Julian’s voice is clipped when he speaks, a certain sharpness to each word. Kelas does his best to hide the intake of breath he does at that, smiling coolly at Julian. Julian has the good grace to bow his head apologetically, smile rueful as he leads Kelas and Elim to the couch. “Here, come sit down, the soup will start to get cold.”

 “It looks lovely, thank you, Dr. Bashir.” Kelas grins softly as he sits down next to Elim, leaving just enough space for Julian next to either of them. He sits across from them instead, legs crossed beneath him in Tolan’s armchair. Kelas tries not to feel insulted and fails rather quickly. “Elim tells me you’re working to find a solution to the plague.”

 Julian’s expression takes on a more grim countenance then, a resigned grief coming into his gaze. This Kelas understands intimately, years of war having taken a similar toll on them both. Doctors aren’t built for such things, years of death and bloodshed they vowed to never commit.

 But he and Julian both survived, both rearranged themselves until they could. Julian meets his gaze with a certain understanding, a respect shared between them if nothing else. “Yes, I expect you’ll join the rest of us soon.”

 “Julian, have I told you that Kelas is a fan of Terran literature?” Elim calls with a bright smile, sliding a hand over Kelas’ on the couch and squeezing it softly. Kelas watches for Julian’s reaction, for the flair of jealousy or hurt he expects. Instead Julian looks happy for them, smile soft and gaze resigned, as though he’s giving away an old love to someone else.

 It occurs to Kelas for the first time that it might not only be his bond with him that Julian’s questioning.

 “Is he? He can take a few of my padds if he’d like.” Julian glances at him, smile small and expression kind. There’s a flicker of excitement for just a moment, the kind of warmth born of passion, free and joyous in a way Kelas has not seen much of over the past decade.

 Kelas tries to seize on that, leaning forward so his knee nearly brushes against Julian’s own. Julian nearly spills his soup, eyes wide as he glances down at their legs. Julian slowly turns his gaze up to him and gulps a little, long lashes fluttering slightly. Kelas drops his voice a bit, letting it take on a honeyed quality. “That’s quite kind of you, Dr. Bashir. Maybe you have some recommendations for me.”

 “Oh, Garak is better for that. He’s much more critical than me.” Julian mumbles as he takes a shaky bit of his soup, eyes still wide and cheeks slightly flushed. He’s beautiful in his way, all slender lines and angles, face soft and expressive with big eyes and hair that’s soft and full of texture.

 “Still, I want to know what you think, eventually.” Kelas tells him in that same voice. This time Julian stutters and quickly and with absolutely no subtly changes the topic to rocks of all things. He says little the rest of the night, polite and encouraging, smile soft whenever they touch each other.

 But the sadness never quite leaves his eyes either.

*****

 Elim greets him with a narrowed gaze, eyes clouded with frustration and just a touch of confusion. Kelas doesn’t know Elim as well as he’d like yet, but he doesn’t strike him as a man used to being unsure. Elim sniffs a bit, shaking his head as he starts preparing the medbay. “I can see a little better now why you think he hates you.”

 “I don’t think that anymore though, Elim.” Kelas corrects him as he raises an eye ridge, tilting his head to the right a bit so his braid falls over his shoulder. He bites back a sigh; it really was incredible that two men could love each other as much as Julian and Elim and still misunderstand each other so completely.

 “Really? And what exactly did you see last night that I missed?” Elim sounds amused and indeed, there’s a touch of that in his gaze. But there’s also a woundedness and something inscrutable that Kelas can’t read. He wonders if the other man feels insulted that Kelas has seen things in Julian he’s apparently blinded himself to.

 “He was kind to me, polite. His expressions were more resigned than annoyed. From what you’ve told me about him, I’d have known if he were angry or possessive.” Kelas explains, careful to keep his voice neutral and professional. Kelas knows if he shows too much concern that Elim will panic, too much hurt and he might grow angry or resentful towards Julian.

 Elim merely nods, expression purposefully blank.  “Julian does have a rather expressive face.”

 “Yes, which means he believes that the bond between us is false, even all of his research doesn’t support that.” Kelas’ voice is soft and this time he can’t help but let a bit of worry bleed into his voice. It was almost easier when he thought it was simply _him_ Julian didn’t want.

 “It would seem so.” Elim agrees with far more cheer in his voice than either of them could possibly feel, their bond heavy with too many emotions, burning instead of merely warm.

 Kelas swallows a little, turning around so he can grasp both of Elim’s hands with his own. Elim meets his gaze warily, the skin around his eyes tightening slightly. “Elim, would Dr. Bashir have any reason to psychologically cut himself off from the bond? Societal mores against polyamorous bonds? A fear of emotional intimacy? Something in his past that might have affected his views of bonds?”

 “Oh, all of those, my dear doctor.” Elim lets out a bitter laugh, eyes twinkling as he looks past Kelas and back toward the shed. Kelas follows his gaze and wonders what possibly could have made someone raised in the luxury of the Federation so afraid.

* * *

  Garak can admit when he’s wrong and he believes he might have been this time, misjudging Julian’s bouts of petulance and determined research as jealousy when they’re born of something else, at least partially. He can’t allow that to continue further than it has, refuses to go through the dance of whose mark he _really_ has on his wrist again unless it’s absolutely necessary.  

 Garak needs to remind Julian that they fit together, that they’re bonded and that he fills the same spaces for Garak that Kelas does.

With that in mind, Garak comes home alone, smiling softly as he takes in the sight of Julian curled up on the love seat. He’s wearing a neon green tank top and orange and red plaid sleep pants and he looks ridiculous. Julian glances up at him, brow furrowing slightly. “Where’s Kelas?”

 “I thought the two of us might spend some time alone tonight.” Garak murmurs as he sits down on the love seat next to him, their thighs pressed together. Julian’s eyes light up at his words, body twisting around until he’s hooked one of his ankles around Garak’s own. Garak smiles as he leans forward, a playful twinkle in his eye as he resists the urge to pull Julian into his lap.

 “Are you sure? I don’t want to get in the way of your bond.” Julian’s voice is surprisingly earnest as he leans in to rest a hand on Garak’s cheek, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.

 “Trust me when I say you’re not, Julian.” Garak just manages to keep the heavy sarcasm he feels in his bones from his voice, though he does give Julian’s back a flat look when the other man twists around to grab a padd from the coffee table. The only bonds Julian was getting in the way of were his own. “Shall I read some poetry to you? We both enjoy Auden and Takir. One of those could be nice, or maybe some of your ancient epics.”

 “Takir sounds lovely, darling. And maybe while you recite I can give you a hand rub. I’ve noticed they’ve been rather stressed this week.” Julian says as he sets the padd down, glancing down at the rough, cracked skin along Garak’s knuckles. His gaze grows soft as he takes Garak’s hands in his own, kneading small circles against his knuckles.

 “Thank you, my dear.” Garak murmurs warmly as he feels some of the pain collected over the past few days fade from his limbs. Julian really does have such skilled fingers. Julian continues to knead the skin along his wrists, bending over to press a soft kiss against one of his scales. Julian glances up at him through his eyelashes as Garak begins to read, gaze soft and adoring.

 He hopes it’s enough to remind Julian that Garak is his and he is Garak’s, or if not, at least a start.

*****

 “Good morning, my dear doctor.” Garak calls a touch more cheerfully the next morning, watching Kelas from the doorway. He’s busy setting up his tools, braid softly crooked and a few strands falling across his forehead as he glances up at Garak wirh a smile. “Here, I brought you some Tarkalean tea from home.”

 Kelas sets his tools down and walks to Garak’s side, pressing a soft kiss against his mouth, one hand curling gently around his wrist. “How kind of you, Elim. I brought some biscuits to share, if you haven’t eaten yet.”

 “Thank you, Kelas. It’s nice, in the early morning. So quiet and warm, the air still.” Garak murmurs softly as he glances out the doorway, taking in the monuments scattering the earth. There’s nothing else there but the thin lines of grass and brilliantly colored birds that survived and endured the war.

 “Do you? I find it rather lonely. There’s nothing, no soft sounds of children playing or sights of people walking hand in hand, no joy in the air. It’s easy to become melancholic when the suns are still rising.” Kelas sighs as he stares off into the empty plain, smile crooked and rueful. Garak wonders if he’s picturing the same city road Garak is, filled with bright lights and towers that rose from the sand like limbs.

 “Then how lucky that you’re not alone.” Garak murmurs with a hint of a smile as he suddenly grabs Kelas’ hand with his own. He squeezes it gently, leaning in to kiss him again, letting his breath linger on his cheek. “Julian would feel the same way.”

 Kelas takes on a more hesitant expression, a small sigh escaping his lips as he squeezes Garak’s hand. “Are we having dinner tonight?”

 “I think it would be good to try again.” Garak keeps his voice mild. He’d understand if Kelas doesn’t want to, given that Julian nearly skipped their first breakfast to keep researching ways to prove their bond false and their second dinner being so endlessly polite it was almost insulting. But Garak saw the hints of sparks between them there, the interest in Julian’s eyes he’s not even sure the good doctor is aware of. This can work. Eventually.

 “Maybe this time he’ll even shake my hand.” Kelas answer with a warm laugh that Garak can’t help join in, leaning in to press their spoons together.

*****

 Dinner itself is the same affair as before, polite and restrained and so boring Garak wants to cry. But then something wonderful happens. Julian grabs Kelas’ arm when they’re by the door, pressing his eyebrows together and smiling crookedly. It’s not a look he’s had in some time, nervous and excited at the same time and almost a touch shy. Garak finds he’s missed it.

 Julian takes a padd off of the shelf, holding it out between the three of them.  “Here Dr. Parmak, I received a new padd in the mail from Ezri a few days ago. Since I’ve already read it, I thought you and Elim might like to read it together.”

 “I fear this work isn’t new to me either, Dr. Bashir. I’ve read _Love’s_ _Labour_ _Lost_ before and quite enjoyed it.” Kelas grins warmly at him, gaze playful as he brushes his hand over Julian’s on the padd. Julian gives no sign he feels any spark and Garak tries to swallow the bile of disappointment building in the back of his throat.

 Still he can’t but feel optimistic - though he’ll never let either of _these_ men know that - when Julian’s eyes light up, that crooked smile only growing brighter. There may be hope for Julian yet.

 “Did you? It’s not one of Shakespeare’s more popular works, at least not in the Federation. Here I can lend you something else, maybe some poetry?” Julian asks without missing a beat, pulling his hand away from Kelas’ to go back to their frankly extravagant collection of padds. Kelas eyes it with delight, clearly scanning for the empty spaces on the shelves where his own might fit someday.

 “That would be lovely. Maybe though, we could both read Love’s Labour Lost again and talk about it.” Kelas throws out with a warm, slightly hesitant smile. Julian’s gaze almost immediately brightens, smile eager for a second before he remembers himself. As much as Julian loves to argue, Garak knows he also loves to discuss shared values and build with and on other’s ideas.

 Julian and Kelas can provide each other that more easily than he can give it to either of them.

 “It’d be nice to talk to someone with more appreciation for Shakespeare than Elim.” Julian’s voice is light and teasing as he looks at Garak out of the corner of his eye. Then he turns back to Kelas, warmth slowly fading from his expression as though he just now remembered he’s trying not to be enchanted with the other man. His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks again. “Good night, Dr. Parmak.”

 Garak closes the door behind Kelas and watches Julian make his way back to the couch, biting his lip as he stares off into the distance. His free hand is wrapped around his wrist like a prayer.

* * *

 Julian’s shift on Thursday ends at 17 hours, long before the second sun will set, so he decides to try and garden. He doesn’t dare touch Elim’s orchids, but the medicinal herbs are his and Julian treats them with the same care and precision he would any other patient.

 And if nothing else it helps take his mind off the lives he hasn’t been able to save, the children who come in with coughs too severe or people in the prime of their life broken down on the cellular level by the plague. It’s too many, far too many and Julian’s not sure how much help he even is. So much for his brilliant mind.

 And more selfishly, it takes his mind off of Elim and Kelas and the bond that isn’t. Which is why Julian finds it rather unfortunate when he catches Kelas walking towards him, gaze taking on that same chiding quality he had when Elim forced them to eat breakfast together. “Dr. Parmak! What a pleasant surprise. You got here before Elim, I’m afraid.”

 “I’m not here to see Elim, dear.” Kelas’ voice is soft as he kneels down next to Julian in the dust, close enough so their bodies brush against each other. Julian raises an eyebrow at the endearment and takes a particularly harsh clip of his Gull’a herbs leaves. He’s not Kelas’ anything, not while the bond lies dead and colorless and he has nothing to offer him.

 And that’s the root of all of this, isn’t it? He has nothing to offer Elim nor Kelas that they don’t already provide for each other. Elim is pragmatic and a realistic idealist where Kelas is optimistic and moral. Kelas is compassionate and thoughtful where Garak sometimes chooses to be cold or looks to far towards the end. Kelas and Garak both love literature and music, share the same language and history Julian will never know.

 They’re both him with all the flaws taken out, and Julian doesn’t see where he fits with them. Maybe Jules would have.

 Julian can feel Kelas watching him, and turns around to meet concerned eyes and and a soft smile. Julian tries to hide his insecurities behind a brilliant smile and slightly smug tone of his voice. “Oh! is something on your mind?”

 “You’ve been avoiding Elim and I, why?” Kelas’ voice for once lacks the gentleness that Julian’s come to associate with it, bordering instead on the harsh. Julian blinks a bit owlishly at that, twisting around to face Kelas more fully. He finds no smile there, though Kelas’ gaze is still tight with a worry Julian can’t understand.

 “Avoiding you? I’ve had dinner with both of you for at least four nights a week for the past three weeks.” Julian reminds him with a hint of laughter, shaking his head and smiling in a way men and women at the academy used to call charming and Elim’s always called fake.

 Kelas seems to agree with Elim, the concern in his gaze only doubling, even as he presses his mouth into a thin line. His voice is cool when he speaks, almost clinical and Julian doesn’t like it one bit. He’s never been a good patient, not since he was six. “Yes, and barely said absolutely nothing about yourself.”

 Julian smiles nervously, batting his hands out at a few of the blossoms along his plant. “Maybe I’m just not very talkative.”

 “Maybe, though that would be a surprise after everything Elim’s told me about you.” Kelas grins a bit as he says that, gaze affectionate and familiar in a way that makes Julian shiver. Of course Kelas would think there’s good in him if he’s seeing him through Elim’s eyes. He’s always put those he loves on pedestals, weaving intricate stories that no one can possibly live up to, least of all him. Kelas’ smile turns sad, gaze worried rather than hurt. “You still don’t think the bond is real, do you?”

 “Not especially.” Julian admits with a rueful smile, closing his eyes as the truth sits between them, heavy and ugly. When he opens his eyes, Kelas is still pressed against him, gaze curious but not surprised. “It’s no commentary on you, from the little I know of you, you’re a good man.”

 “And yet you think the mark on your arm is something wrong.” Kelas’ tone is plain. There’s no disbelief there, no hurt and that’s enough for Julian to push forward. Maybe if Kelas understands, it won’t have to hurt anyone but him.

 “Soul Marks aren’t the same for me as they are for you and Elim.” Julian exhales slowly, feeling some of the tension go out of him. Kelas meets his gaze steadily, curious but not pushing. That’s what makes Julian keep going, even as a bit of shame fills each word. “Something was done to me as a child, something that radically altered who I am.”

 Kelas nods and lets out a low breath. He doesn’t look angry or disenchanted when he looks at Julian. Instead his gaze is a mixture of sympathy and tenderness. He brushes a hand out over Julian’s wrist and Julian can’t quite bring himself to pull away. He wishes so badly, for Elim’s sake and Kelas’ and his own, that this we real. “But you believe in your bond with Elim?”

 “I did.” Julian answers softly and then he closes his eyes, breath coming out harsh. He doesn’t open them again until Kelas is gone.

*****

 Elim comes home without Kelas a few hours later, eyes tired and movements stiff. He glances down at Julian sitting on the floor, padd out in front of him. His gaze turns sharp, defeated and angry at the same time. Julian swallows a bit and tries not to think of wires. “You’re still doing research.”

 “You know that I am.” Julian keeps his voice even and tries not to show all the emotions fighting inside of him. Now isn’t the time for that.

 “You realize that if not even _you_ could find an answer after a month, there probably isn’t one besides the option you haven’t explored?” Elim says flatly, smile sharp and nowhere near his gaze as he snatches the padd off of the table, seemingly not caring that he’s ruining all of Julian’s notes in the process.

 Julian grins a bit smugly at that, stretching out on the floor so his arms nearly reach the bedroom door. Garak raises an eye ridge, crossing his arms as he comes to sit on the couch across from him. Julian looks up at him through his eyelashes, voice light. “Maybe, maybe not. I could always send it to Jack or Sarina.”

 “I’d rather your peers not know details about your DNA, if it’s all the same to you.” Elim answers back dryly as he leans down to ruffle Julian’s hair, fingers lacing through his curls for a few seconds. He eventually pulls on them pointedly, glancing at the space on the couch next to him. Julian swallows a little, unsure if he should keep his distance now that he’s questioning everything. _Again_.  

 “Suit yourself. I assume there’s a reason you’re bringing this up now?” Julian rolls to his feet, gingerly sitting on the edge of the couch, as far away from Elim as possible. He doesn’t want to talk about this, not until he has the facts, not until he’s _sure_.

 Elim reaches out and firmly grabs his shoulders, the hint of laughter in his eyes a second ago gone. It’s replaced with a gaze that’s solemn, frustration intertwining with concern. It feels a bit like an ultimatum and Julian’s never cared for those. “You’re being unusually cold toward Kelas. It’s not fair to him or me, or even to yourself. I know that you’re jealous, but you can’t let that create a psychosomatic block between all of us.”

 “Did Dr. Parmak teach you about those?” Julian’s voice is dry, rolling his eyes a little as he leans back against the couch. He doesn’t meet Elim’s eyes, instead staring at the white wall of the shed. His voice is flat when he speaks again, carefully nudging Elim’s arm off of his shoulder. “It’s not that, so you don’t need to worry about my jealousy.”

 Elim doesn’t try to to slide it back, voice cutting instead. When Julian looks up at him, he finds dry ice in his gaze. “Oh yes, because the good Dr. Bashir can never be wrong.”

 Julian takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, just resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Of _course_ this is upsetting for Elim. He’s just found out one of his soulmates might have had his bonds augmented out of him, which is negatively affecting his other soulmate. He can’t blame him for lashing out. “You’re upset so you’re trying to upset me. I understand why this might be difficult for you and Kelas to process, considering -“

 “No, we couldn’t possibly understand the science as well as you, dear. But at least Kelas and I know how to read a room.” Elim doesn’t sound angry this time, the harsh tone from before gone. Instead his words are matter of fact, delivered without any judgment or care. Somehow that almost hurts more.

 Julian doesn’t get a chance to respond, Elim turning and walking out of the room without glancing back at him. The door to their - _Elim’s_ shed closes shut with a sense of finality.

 Julian told himself coming to Cardassia was worth it if he could find what would make Elim happy. Now he can’t help but wonder if it’s time for him to remove what doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: In which Julian finally uses his words, Garak misreads the situation, and Kelas finally loses his cool, and fluff is nonetheless had. 
> 
> Comments and questions are loved!! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elim Garak is devious for the good of everyone, Julian Bashir gets some life-changing news, and Kelas offers some hard truths.

If someone had asked Julian if he thought he’d be planning romantic rendezvous for Elim and his other soulmate, Julian thinks he would have laughed in that person’s face. And yet here he finds himself, researching the different seed and flower types at the botanical garden and mapping out which paths would be the most enchanting.

 But that was also before Julian saw Elim and Kelas together, the ways in which they perfectly complement and contrast each other, how they’re both in their own ways equally devoted to Cardassia and it’s people. And Julian isn’t. 

 Julian belongs to Starfleet for better or for worse, and while he’d never dream of leaving Cardassia while the dust still hangs in the air and the plague spreads, eventually those things will pass. Cardassia will rise from the ashes and Elim and Kelas will both have places here in that. Julian doesn’t see one for him. 

 And that’s not getting into the sins Julian needs to atone for and the disease he ignores, Section 31 spreading further every day Julian spends away from Starfleet. 

So yes, Julian plans a date for Elim and Kelas at the botanical center and tries to bring it up as casually as possible. 

 “Have you two heard about the new botanical center they’re setting up in the city?” Julian keeps his voice bright and casual, pressing his head against his palm as he leans forward so he’s eye to eye with Elim. Elim gives him a flat look, though Julian can’t tell if it’s because he obviously knows about the center or because he already suspects something is off. “Don't give me that look, Elim. I thought the two of you could go on one of your nights off coming up.”

 “And you’ll make us a picnic?” Elim asks with a touch of sarcasm, one hand brushing against his shoulder as he looks past Julian and out the small window of their ever expanding shed. Julian takes Elim’s hand between his own and squeezes it softly, interlocking their hands together. All of this feels so simple, so domestic, almost ridiculous in the face of everything they’ve both done and lost in the last few years. 

 Julian can’t help grinning a bit ruefully at that, shaking his head so a few curls fall across his forehead. his hair has gotten too long since he got here, fastidious styling replaced in favor of getting what sleep he can manage between shifts. “Maybe I will. My cooking has gotten quite all right since I came here.”

 “Yes, I’m quite impressed with how far you’ve come from the inedible things you tried to pass off as food when we practiced on Deep Space 9.” Elim’s smile borders on the genuine this time, gaze appreciative as he squeezes Julian’s shoulder in a way that borders on the possessive. 

 Julian smirks as he tilts his head back to meet Elim’s gaze, biting his lip as he meets those playfully fond eyes. He’ll miss these quiet moments and tender looks, if things play out the way he expects and fears they will. “Well, I am a fast learner.” 

 “Not always as fast as you think.” Elim corrects him softly as he presses their foreheads together, lips cool and chapped and painfully familiar as they press against his own. It’s not until hours later when they’re lying in bed that Julian stops to wonder what exactly Elim meant by that, the other man’s arm wrapped around his waist like the kindest anchor. 

*****

 Julian watches Kelas walk through the door, a light layer of dust spreading across his shoulders and down the sides of his arms. Julian notes that it’s not as thick as other days, the dust in the air starting to thin. Soon Cardassia - or at least parts if it - will start to come back to life, blossoms bursting free from the ashes. Julian hopes he’ll still be here to see at least a few of them.

 Julian smiles warmly as he comes to stand next to Kelas, keeping just enough distance between them that they don’t touch. “Dr. Parmak, welcome back. I imagine you had a good day in the field today?” 

 “Yes, thank you, Dr. Bashir.” Kelas glances past him though, lips twisting into a half-smile as he takes in the platters of breads and cold soup across the table. Julian’s even made some Rokassa juice for them both, awful as it was to have to smell it while he did. “This is quite the spread.” 

 “I’m practicing for your picnic with Elim.” Julian laughs a little as he takes a step back, gaze flicking to the door as it’s pushed open again. Elim pushes a bit of dust off of his coat, so that it’s pristine sable color shines through instead of the red. Julian can’t help the tenderness that comes into his gaze at Elim’s fussiness, at the way Kelas helps him take his jacket off to hang on the wall. 

 Elim brushes a kiss against Kelas’, soft and sweet as he presses their foreheads together. When they break apart, Elim raises an eye ridge, lips pressed into a thin line as he takes in the skant’s Julian is wearing. “How thoughtful of you, my dear. Is there a reason you’re doing it in uniform?”

 “I took a night shift.” Julian shrugs, leaning toward the door and crossing his feet at the ankles, hoping he comes off as casual. Elim gives him an inscrutable look for a moment, piercing blue eyes holding him in place even though he needs to go. Then Elim smiles softly in a way that doesn’t match the cheerful bitterness in his gaze. 

 What Julian doesn’t expect is for Kelas to give him a disapproving look, pressing his hand under his chin as he takes in the uniform. Julian wonders if he’s annoyed for skipping out on their shared meal or if he simply doesn’t trust the Federation. Kelas’ voice borders on the cold when he speaks again, almost clinical. “Did you?”

 “Have a good dinner, I’ll see you both later.” Julian mutters just a touch too quickly as he pushes his way through the door, careful not to look back at either of them. They’re going to have a lovely dinner together, sharing their rokassa juice and understanding, filling in each empty space of their mark.  

 And Julian will figure out where he’s needed more, by their side or in black leather. 

*****

 Julian knows he needs to be a  _ bit _ less enthusiastic about Elim’s and Kelas’ date, considering he’s not technically involved. But it’s been months since he’s planned anything purely for pleasure. Julian’s learned to survive without the luxuries of the Federation, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t mean the simple pleasure of a relaxing day spent surrounded by beauty, real or simulated. 

 And he likes that he can give that to Kelas and Elim, neither of whom have had nearly enough joy in their lives. Julian can’t do much for them at the moment, but he can do make up a picnic basket and let them gather lilies in their old age. “Elim, I was thinking I might get a bottle of kanar for your picnic with Kelas? Maybe some Cardassian poetry you both appreciate?” 

 “Do you want to add some mood lighting and smooth jazz as well?” Elim’s words come out clipped, an almost staccato to the way he speaks as he pours yet another cup of Tarkalean tea. Julian raises around as he raises an eyebrow, biting his lip as he takes in the slight edge to Elim’s voice. 

 Julian swallows down several curses as he closes his eyes and tries to stay calm. Elim has no reason to suspect anything. “Elim?” 

 “You seem to be setting up increasingly romantic interludes for Kelas and I. Alone.” Elim’s words are short and matter of fact, tone almost friendly as he takes a sip of his tea. But Elim’s gaze tells a different story, gaze narrowed and suspicious as he slides his hand down the side of Julian’s neck to brush against his collarbone. 

 Julian tries to look as innocent as possible, smiling brightly as he takes Elim’s hands in his own. Elim gives him a flat look as he intertwines their hands and pulls Julian closer. Julian’s grin falters a little, not quite able to hide the sudden surge of guilt in his chest. “I just want the two of you to be able to have a few peaceful moments alone together. Is that so wrong?”

 “If you were someone else it wouldn’t be.” Elim assures him a voice like liquid velvet. Julian opens his mouth to argue, but his words are lost in a kiss and he doesn’t have the energy to repeat them. 

*****

 Julian wakes up at 6:00 hours to find himself with nowhere to go, his calendar the shining lilac that indicates his days off. Julian considers caking to check in when a firm, scaled arm slides across his waist, breath cool and refreshing against the hot skin of his neck. He’s been outplayed. “Elim, did you switch my day off? I went to check my calendar and it said I didn’t work again until tomorrow.” 

 “We’re having a picnic at the botanical center. How strange of you to forget when you planned it all.” Elim corrects him as he presses a quick kiss to his collarbone, nipping his skin a bit. Then Elim pulls away completely, leaving Julian bereft both of his warmth and his weight against him. 

Julian sits up gingerly and carefully opens one eye, surprised to find Elim already fully dressed, crimson vest seeming brighter than usual in the light of their bedroom. He tosses Julian a pair of grey pants and a mint green shirt, both made out of material so thin and gauzy Julian feels like he’s wearing nothing half the time. 

 It’s not until he’s sliding the tunic over his head though, trying to smooth his hair that he realizes he shouldn’t get dressed at all. This isn’t his date. “Wait, but that was just for you and Kelas.”

 “My dear, it would hardly be fun to have a romantic sojourn together unless it was all three of us together. Now stop fretting and take my arm so we’re not late meeting Kelas there.” Elim slides his arm through Julian’s and pulls him to his feet. They’re walking toward the door before Julian can even think to protest. Julian almost stumbles out the walkway, barely grabbing his mask off the wall in time. 

 Elim stops him, his free hand sliding up to his shoulder to hold him in place. Then he lets go of Julian completely, and for half a second Julian considers turning around and going back inside. But then Elim wraps the mask around his mouth and up over his nose, fingers gently brushing against the side of his neck. 

 Elim looks up at up at him with such care and Julian knows he’s lost. “I - all right. You’re quite devious.” 

Julian curls into Elim’s side, idly pressing his hand into one of the scales along his wrist and letting the warm, almost searing heat guide him. He could allow himself - allow them - this much until they got to the botanical center. A last kiss goodbye and all that, if it turns out Elim

and Kelas don’t need him after all. Once they're there, Julian can slip into the shadows and let Elim and Kelas walk side by side through the blossoms. 

 Except once they arrive, Elim greets Kelas with an almost perfunctory kiss and then slips away from them both, vanishing into a small crowd of people so seamlessly that Julian doesn’t even notice him leaving. Kelas doesn’t seem to have either, gazing around owlishly before shrugging and offering Julian his arm with an almost performative gallantry. 

 And that’s how Julian finds himself walking down the narrow aisles with Kelas, their bodies pressed up against each other as they silently look at plants.

 That is until they get to the hybrids and Julian’s scientific curiosity overcomes his lingering awkwardness. 

 “This is a Trillian Lemon and Cardassian T’al fruit hybrid. The science to make this work, it’s almost impossible to fathom.” Julian’s face brightens up immediately as he holds up the small, blossoming flower to Kelas, hands wrapped carefully around the potted plant. He’s been dealing with so much with death, to see something brand new being born from the dust here. 

 Kelas smiles, gaze going soft as his fingers brush against the petals. Julian meets his kind, exhausted gaze and feels understood in a way he rarely does. “It’s beautiful. Tell me about it.” 

 Julian’s eyes light up as he starts explaining the intricate process of genetic cross-breeding of the T’al seeds, detailing everything he’s ever read about them since he came to Cardassia. Kelas chimes in every so often with a question or more information about the different fruits they come across. Kelas watches Julian while he talks, gaze shifting between curious and fond and amused. But there’s no eye rolls or sighs, no patronizing stares. 

 No, if anything Kelas seems like he’s enjoying himself and that let Julian relax enough to keep talking, their arms brushing against each other as they move through the narrow hallway. It’s not until Julian feels a tap on his shoulder that he realizes that instead of letting Kelas and Elim walk the halls,  _ he’s  _ walked them with Kelas. 

 “Dears, not to interrupt, but our food will grow sour if we don’t eat soon. I wouldn’t mind, but I suspect the two of you might.” Elim murmurs into his ear as he wraps his arm around both their shoulders, holding them close together. 

 Julian flushes a bit, because that would mean he’s been rambling onto Kelas for nearly an hour, maybe even longer. Elim smiles brightly at both of them, gaze the familiar smugly loving gaze Elim has whenever he wins one of their games. Julian wants to be annoyed with Elim, but he’s had such a nice time that he can’t really bring himself to be. “Oh! Right, I’m sorry. I must have lost track of time.” 

 “No problem at all, my dear.” Elim presses a kiss to his cheek and then to Kelas’ own, guiding them down the halls until they spread out into a large courtyard, fresh grass springing up from the dust. They spend the afternoon there, Elim weaving Cardassian myths through the air while Kelas clicks out an unfamiliar song that Julian soon finds himself humming along too, the rhythm coming to him and feeling in time with his heartbeat.

 Julian lets the song overtake him and forgets his plans, at least for the afternoon. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he can find out if they need him.

 But when they’re all walking home towards the shed, Julian can’t help noticing Kelas holding his wrists up to Elim. Nor the way Elim looks at them with a kind of hope he’s never seen in his eyes before. 

* * *

 Garak makes his way toward the building that holds Kelas’ office and medical supplies, a smile playing at the corner of his lips as he remembers the sight from yesterday. Yellow, a brilliant and burning yellow, right in the center of Kelas’ mark. His  _ left  _ mark.

 They haven’t shown Julian yet, not wanting to scare him off after the lovely day they all had together. But it’s so much for Garak, proof the three of them belong together here, and not chasing dreams of martyrdom in Section 31. Julian is theirs and they’re his. 

 “I’m sorry I won’t be able to bring you your tea every morning, my dear doctor.” Garak sighs softly, sliding the tea in front of Kelas, leaning over to press a quick kiss to his lips. Garak slides both of his hands over Kelas’ wrists, thumbing first his own mark and then Julian’s. “But hopefully soon I’ll be able to bring it to you in bed.” 

 “This bit of yellow on my wrist does seem like a good sign.” Kelas sighs as he holds up his left wrist, Julian not there to scare away this time. There right in the center of Kelas’ second Mark is a burst of marigold, with strands of  a rich orange spreading out along the edges. Garak can’t help but flick his gaze between the same colors on his own wrist. Julian’s enthusiasm and sheer joy in life, his passion for the things he loves. Things Elim worries about him losing every day. Kelas’ gaze takes on an edge of melancholy as he thumbs the side of the mark. “It’d be a better one if he felt something.” 

 “I don’t disagree, but it’s a start. Julian’s stubborn and logical to a fault, but he’s also quite emotional and romantic, in his own way. Once he accepts the mark, I suspect the colors will come quickly on both sides.” Elim grins a little as he brushes over the yellow swirl on Kelas’ wrist.

 “Like ours did?” Kelas raises an eye ridge, twisting his wrists around so that he’s running his fingers along Garak’s own mark. He rests one between the lavender lines and the thick deep blues circling and cutting through the mark. Garak imagines they must be for loyalty rather than trustworthiness. “How did I ever get stuck with a sentimentalist and a romantic as my soulmates?”

 “I often ask myself the same question. You and Julian can both be quite moody, you know.” Garak chides Kelas with a quick shake of his head, smile small and fond. Kelas shakes his head a little, running a hand over his braid casually so a few strands come loose. Garak can’t help catching a few between his fingers as he leans forward and presses his lips against a ridge on Kelas’ neck. “I suppose the three of us are a match.” 

 “Where do you think you’ll end up? I know you’ve been dabbling in politics.” Kelas’ voice is soft and just a touch encouraging, his hand coming to rest against Garak’s cheek. Garak can’t help smiling softly, twisting a few soft strands of Kelas’ hair between his fingertips. 

To have two good men believe in him - it’s more than he could have dreamed of. 

 “Yes, yes, out of the shadows and into interrogating and annoying people in the light. You must be so proud.” Garak’s voice is soft as he slides into the chair next to Kelas, taking a sip of his tea from his chipped mug. It’s still too hot, almost burning as it spreads across his tongue. Kelas makes a hissing noise with the back of his mouth, pressing his hand over Elim’s on the mug, so both absorb the heat through the ceramic. 

 “Oh trust me, darling I am. Worried, but proud.” Kelas presses their mouths together as he finishes speaking, interlocking their hands together. Garak presses their foreheads against one another and hopes that now that their days are coming to an end, they’ll soon have the nights together. 

*****

 Garak and Kelas walk through the front door to find the shed rich with the smell of herbs, Julian mixing a bowl of something with so much focus Garak’s not sure he noticed them come in. He can get rather obsessive about his projects.  

 “Julian, my dear, another lovely dinner? You’re getting so domestic.” Garak notes with a touch of pride, even as he gives the plates of bread and something with a pudding like consistency a cautious look. Cooking’s never been a passion of Julian’s before. Garak worries he’s using his new hobby as yet another form of escapism or as a way to plot while keeping his hands busy. 

 He’s not sure which would be worse. 

 “Thank you, Elim.” Julian smiles crookedly at him, expression tense as he comes to stand in front of the couch. Garak sits down and raises an eye ridge, watching the way Julian wrings his hands with an increasing sense of concern. Kelas follows him after a moment, his own gaze calm and caring as he gestures for Julian to keep going. “I have something I need to talk to both of you about. Something important.”

 “Do you now?” Kelas’ tone is as short as his gaze is kind, each word coming out biting. Julian blinks owlishly, hands stilling in the air. Garak watches as Kelas leans towards him, gaze sharp and just enough hurt to make Julian flinch. Garak flicks his gaze between them, smiling pleasantly as though he’s not aware of the tension in the air. “Is this going to be another rejection, because I’m not in the mood for it, Julian.” 

 “It’s not a rejection, it’s just a discussion I think we should have about how things are going to progress.” Julian’s voice is a hair tighter than Garak would like, just a touch too much emotion for this to go well. Garak knows how Julian can dig in, stubbornly clinging to his flawed logic the more emotional he gets. 

 But Julian’s also looking sheepishly at Kelas, guilt at the edges and maybe that’s something too. 

 Kelas’ gaze softens a bit, his left hand brushing against the inside of Julian’s wrist tenderly. His voice is kind but firm when he speaks, the yellow on his mark clearly visible if Julian would just  _ look.  _ “Yes, progression would be nice, Julian.”

 “I believe people should complement each other’s strengths and help each other’s weaknesses, and help each other accomplish their goals.” Julian starts his speech, voice sounding strangely distant to Garak, because he’s already calculating possibilities. 

  Garak knows Julian wants to be a part of this with Kelas and him so badly, wants to be and more importantly  _ is  _ lovable, worthwhile. But Garak knows he also wants to atone for his sins and the Federation’s, and he worries martyrdom might be more tempting than love. 

 “How romantic.” Elim‘s voice is dry, gaze flat and with a hint of annoyance as he rolls to his feet. He can’t believe they’re going through this  _ again _ . Garak’s not sure he’s ever met someone who loves playing martyr as much as Julian Bashir, so lovely in his self-imagined tragedies, in his sheer faith that he is at once too much and not enough for anyone and everyone else. 

 But then the doorbell rings, the chime spreading across the room and cutting the tension in the room. Garak opens the door to find himself face to face with one of the men placed in charge of deliveries. Garak takes the package with a wide smile and a quick nod, the door sliding shut behind him. Garak stares down at the padd in his hand, emblazoned with the familiar symbol of the Federation. 

 Julian takes it from his hands, brow furrowing as he stares at down at the text in front of him. There’s a few seconds of silence and then Julian makes a choked sound, padd nearly falling to the floor. Garak thinks it might not have been a commendation for his service to Cardassia. 

* * *

 Julian watches blankly as Elim catches the padd with one hand, movements swift and with an ease that only came from decades of training. He tries to focus on that and not the burning feeling in his stomach that’s slowly climbing up how esophagus. For a moment everything is slow and silent, the world narrowing to the padd and Elim’s hand around it.

 Then reality sets in again, and Julian can’t stop the choked sound that spills from his throat, body going slack. He’s not in Starfleet anymore. His voice is shaky and far away when he speaks, as though someone else is delivering the news. “They’re discharging me from Starfleet for insubordination and potential desertion.” 

 “For coming here?” Kelas sounds appalled, eyes filling with disgust as he slides to his feet. Julian thinks he can feel his hands on his shoulder, holding him still. Kelas is not wrong that the Federation had been hesitant about letting Julian serve as a refugee doctor on Cardassia. But now he wonders if that was a front, a way to make him feel safe while they looked for excuses to cut him off. 

 Elim clearly thinks the same, lips curling in that specific twist of disgust he reserves for hypocrites. “For being genetically engineered and knowing who Luther Sloan is.” 

 “I’m not in Starfleet anymore.” Julian’s voice is weak to his own ears, hands starting to shake a bit. All his goals and plans are suddenly completely upended, taken away from him in seconds. Julian’s been waiting for this moment since he was a child and he’s safer than he ever thought he would be, safe and - for the time being -needed on Cardassia. It still somehow hurts more than he ever imagined. 

Elim suddenly presses a hand under his jaw, tilting his head down so they’re eye to eye. His gaze is heavy with too many emotions for Julian to name, but none of them are pity and that’s enough for Julian at the moment. His voice is gentle when he speaks, as though Julian might snap in half at any second. “Do you still have your medical license?”

 “Yes. They didn’t take that away. Not yet.” Julian mumbles, blinking a few times to drive away the tears building at the back of his head. He won’t cry. Not over a discharge he deserves by all accounts, even if those aren’t the reasons he’s being let go. 

 “Good. It will be easier to get you one through the right channels here, just in case.” Kelas squeezes his shoulder, smile small and fond in a way that makes Julian’s stomach hurt. He doesn’t deserve that. Not now when The Federation has recognized him for what he’s always been and rightfully tossed him out. They have no use for him anymore - 

 Unless they do. 

 “Section 31 might still come for me.” Julian whispers, gaze growing tight as he meets Elim’s. His murder of Sloan would have only proved to them that he’s got enough of a ruthless streak for the work they do, and an agent with no technical ties to Starfleet is just as useful in its own ways as a current member.

Elim seems to read his mind, expression growing harsh and far away, possibilities flashing across his eyes like wildfire. “Then we’ll be ready for them. We can set up protections -“

 “I should join, if they offer.” Julian cuts him off, his eyes widening almost in time with Kelas’ and Elim’s. The idea’s a surprise to him as well, but now that he’s had it, Julian feels sure it’s what he  _ should  _ do. He can’t help the Federation through Starfleet anymore, but he can still save it from corruption, embed himself in the rotting limb that is Section 31 and cut it off before it bleeds into the rest of Starfleet. “It’s the only way to take them down from the inside, Elim.” 

Elim’s eyes grows cold and distant, lips pressed into a thin line. When he speaks, his voice is calm and without emotion, as dangerous as Julian’s ever heard it. “And what about us?” 

 Julian swallows again, trying to even out his breathing and finding it more difficult than usual. Elim knows that Julian wants this desperately, that bringing down Section 31 is the only way to even begin making up for the things he’s done over the past few years, to make them worthwhile. Julian meets Elim’s sharp gaze, his own beseeching as Julian roughly grips his arm. “That’s what I was saying, Elim. You and Kelas don’t need me. I don’t have anything to offer you. I do have something to offer the Federation. If I can learn how Section 31 functions I can change it -“

 “To your image? That won’t happen, Julian. I know what happens to brilliant, idealistic men who think they can change society from the shadows.” Elim’s voice is cool and matter of fact, as if there’s no question in his mind that Julian would fall rather than succeed. Julian can’t help but flinch at the thought, shoulders shaking a little harder with each passing second. 

 “I’m not you, Elim.” Julian tries to steady his voice, hands clenching and unclenching as he takes a step backwards toward the door. Kelas lets go of his shoulder but keeps his eyes on him, kind and filled with a sympathy Julian doubts he deserves. 

 “No, you’re not.” Elim brushes a hand along his jaw, thumb at the corner of his mouth. Elim’s gaze is affectionate and a warning at the same time. “Little by little, you’ll compromise your morals more and more, telling yourself that the end justify the means, that your crimes and atonement are one and the same. You’ll do things you never thought yourself capable of, to people you never thought yourself capable of hurting.”

 “I wouldn’t lose myself! I’m not as weak as you think!” Julian snaps, any attempt to keep his voice even lost to rising octaves and shaking throats. He isn’t fragile or the naive, idealistic man who Elim sat down across from all those years ago. Julian doesn’t  _ have _ to be. 

 He’s brilliant and dangerous now, all the limitations he used to have to put on himself suddenly gone along with his designation. 

 “If I thought you were weak, I wouldn’t be concerned.” Elim’s voice borders on a rebuke, sharp blue eyes too intense for Julian to look away, even though he desperately wants to. Kelas comes closer to them both, his hand brushing over Julian’s own. “There are ways we can deplete Section 31’s resources and disable their network from the safety of our home here.” 

Julian runs a hand through his hair several times, breath slightly ragged. He’s done the calculations for if Elim helps him, and it only puts both of them in danger. Alone, Elim is safe here with Kelas, while Julian … well, Julian will have made necessary sacrifices for the State. 

Julian won’t let Elim and Kelas risk their futures and Cardassia’s for his and the Federation’s sins. It wouldn’t be right. “Elim, I’m not going to get you and Kelas caught up in this. Not when it’s so dangerous.” 

 “We’re your soulmates. Anything you’re caught up with, we’re caught up with too.” Kelas’ words are firm and send with a strength that makes Julian pause, more like a vow than a question. Neither of them understand, neither of them have figured it out yet despite being the smartest men Julian’s ever met. He supposed he’ll have to lay the facts out for them. 

 “But you don’t need to be! You two don’t need me. You fill each other’s spaces and complement each other perfectly! Maybe Jules would have had something to offer you both, but I don’t!” Julian’s words spill out like ash, a strangled quality to his voice he can’t get under control. 

  This is too much all at once, too many conversations Julian’s been carefully avoiding and trying to control since long before he met either Elim or Kelas. 

 Kelas raises an eye ridge, voice almost painfully soft as he presses a hand against his cheek. “Who is Jules?”

 Oh. Of course. He doesn’t know. Julian shakes his head and backs out the door, not ready to have that conversation again. Not yet.

* * *

 Kelas waits until the door is closed to kiss Elim on the cheek, shaking his head when the other man tries to follow him. This is a conversation he thinks he needs to have with Julian alone first, just as Elim and Julian did, as he and Elim did. He finds Julian sitting by the garden, his arms wrapped around his legs and his head pressed against them, a small ball of panic and sorrow.

Kelas watches him silently for a few seconds, kneeling down on the ground next to him. He can be patient. Eventually the tension in Julian’s frame fades just a little, watery hazel eyes suddenly staring into Kelas own. “Jules is what I was called before they genetically enhanced me.”

 “And you think that you need to atone for that?” Kelas keeps his voice steady and calm, even as the look Julian gives him makes his stomach drop. He suddenly looks both older and younger at the same time, eyes wide and shining with guilt while his narrow face scrunches together as though in pain.  

 “For that and a million other things.” Julian’s voice comes out ragged, hands clenched right into fists. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, as though trying to calm all the whirling thoughts that seem ready to burst from his skin. “But it’s not just that - I want to serve a purpose, to protect dusty old Earth and all the values Section 31 is slowly poisoning while I sit here doing  _ nothing.” _

 Kelas smiles even as his gaze grows a bit harsher, sitting down next to Julian so their legs are pressed up against each other. He can’t help but give the other man a challenging look, his thumb coming up to rest along where a sensitive ridge would be if he were Cardassian. “Helping to cure the plague and rebuild Cardassia is nothing?” 

 Julian flushes and some of the guilt is replaced with affront. He takes a step back, smug and self-righteous and utterly terrified. “That isn’t what I meant -“

 “Except it is. You’re so busy looking for a higher purpose that you don’t see the one in front of you.” Kelas tries to keep his voice steady, firm but not unkind. Someone needs to open Julian’s eyes to the realities of romanticized martyrdom. If Elim isn’t willing, Kelas supposes it falls to him. “Maybe continuing your work in medicine and research isn’t as noble or self-sacrificing as taking down the poisoned arm of the Federation, but it might be more important.” 

 “I can’t let the Federation rot away. I’m still a citizen, even if I’m not in Starfleet anymore.” Julian sounds less sure this time though, his voice shaking and his gaze weaker than before. 

 Kelas takes Julian’s hands in his own, gaze kind even as his voice takes on a harsher quality. Kelas cannot sit by and let good men become the monsters they think themselves as. “Then don’t. Keep the morals and values of the Federation alive by living them and passing them on to future generations both here and on Earth.” 

 “But I already betrayed them.” Julian’s voice sounds small this time, lost and at a loss. The guilt comes back to his eyes, mixed with a sense of betrayal that Kelas knows all too well. It’s never fun, learning that what they admire can never live up to their values. It’s even worse when someone has to realize they’ll never live up to their own ideals either. 

 Kelas squeezes his hands and leans in, pressing a small kiss to Julian’s knuckles. “Maybe, and maybe the best way to atone for that is to never do it again.” 

 “There could be another situation where I have to, where it’s a choice between hurting someone and genocide.” Julian’s voice breaks a bit more with each word, gaze suddenly weighed down with a conflict Kelas isn’t sure someone like Julian was  _ ever _ going to be equipped to handle. Kelas imagines that Julian doesn’t regret his choice so much as that he had to make one at all. 

 “Then  _ we’ll  _ cross that bridge when we come to it.” Kelas promises him, gaze steady as he lets go of Julian’s hands. He holds them up, pulling his left sleeve down just enough that Julian can see the swirling yellow rising up above it. Julian stares at it as though entranced, carefully reaching his own hand out, but not quite touching the proof on Kelas’ skin that he’s needed and wanted here. 

 Julian smiles crookedly, the fight finally going out of his eyes. It’s replaced with a relief that seems bone deep, his fingers finally brushing against the mark on Kelas’ wrist like it’s a gift rather than a curse. “Thank you, Kelas.” 

 Kelas exhales slowly, letting some of his own tension go as Julian runs his thumb over his wrist. It’s a start. Maybe not the one he wanted, but one all the same. Then Julian gasps abruptly, eyes wide as he pulls his hands back. Maybe not a start after all. “Julian?”

“Kelas, look.” Julian’s smile is unsteady and wide , hands shaking as he holds them out. On the inside of his left wrist is a slight burst of turquoise, spreading out in thin lines of navy and a rich forest green. Kelas stares at it like it’s salvation, pressing the yellow swirl on his own wrist against it. Julian’s voice shakes when he speaks, awed and confused at the same time. “I feel something. A spark, it’s faint, but it’s there. Steady and warm, but not like Elim’s. Not exactly.” 

Kelas leans in so they’re forehead to forehead and presses their marks together. Julian laughs a little, manic and joyous and soon Kelas finds himself joining in. They’re still sitting there like that when Elim comes out of the shed, hesitantly kneeling down between them. 

 Kelas holds up Julian’s wrist, the bright turquoise standing out against his skin. For a second, none of them move. Then Elim presses his own wrist against theirs, exhaling a breath it feels like they’ve all been holding. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and questions are loved!!
> 
> Next chapter: Julian tries to come to term with his new situation, Kelas gets pampered, and Elim Garak finds himself making more of a political splash than he intended.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian, Elim, and Kelas all learn to live and live together in the day to day.

Garak doesn’t say anything at first, content to simply bask in the heat of both his bonds and the sense of hope running through his veins. Julian has finally accepted his bond with Kelas, has finally begun to accept, on some level at least, that they need him as much as he needs them. Their colors and heat will grow together - except wait. Heat. 

 “Do you feel anything?” Garak asks when the silence finally feels too overbearing. He keeps his gaze lockedon Julian, even as he reaches his hand back to grasp Kelas’ wrist. Hope and Cynicism intertwine in his chest. The answer to this could decide everything. “With the bond I mean.” 

 “Yes, yes. I feel something now. It’s not as strong as ours yet, but it’s there.” Julian’s voice sounds almost reverent, gaze painfully fond as he stares down at the mark on his left wrist. The shades of turquoise almost seem like they’re glowing in the dim light of the night. It’s not enough to completely ease Elim’s fears that he might wake up any day now and find Julian gone, off to sacrifice himself for the honor of a Federation that doesn’t even want him. 

 But it’s a start.

 Elim leans in towards his two soulmates and presses a small kiss to Kelas’ mark on Julian’s wrist, letting his lips linger there for a few moments. The he leans up to press a soft kiss Kelas’ mouth, feeling almost overwhelmed as the solid warmth of Kelas’ bond and the more crackling energy of Julian’s start to intertwine. “Hopefully it can only grow.” 

 “I’d like to think so.” Kelas’ voice is soft and fond as he slides in between them, his broad thighs pressing against Julian’s own. Julian glances at him, nervous but excited, smile widening as though against his will. Kelas’ expression is more subtle, but the sparkle in his eye is no less bright. Suddenly Garak feels like he’s a third wheel to his own soulmates. 

 This moment isn’t about him. It’s about Julian and Kelas and the start of their bond. Garak’s interrupting, though he’s too delighted to be aghast at his own rudeness. 

 Garak stands up a little too quickly, planning to take a few hurried steps toward the shed. He doesn’t get more than a half step away before he feels slender fingers wrap around the slim line of skin between his pants and his slippers. Garak glances down to find Julian staring up at him, one eyebrow raised and smirking playfully. “And where do you think you’re going?” 

 “To bed. Maybe you two would care to join me?” Elim murmurs teasingly, though his gaze is soft and hopeful. It’s only a few minutes later that Garak lies in bed with Julian half curled on top of him and Kelas’ arm wrapped across both their waists, bodies warm and comforting. 

* * *

 Julian is curled on the couch between Elim and Kelas, trying to keep the anxiety building in his chest from showing on his face. He  _ should  _ be happy. Hell, he  _ is  _ happy. He hadn’t lost Elim, he’s gained Kelas who he already thinks he loves, and he’s still a doctor. The only thing he’s lost is Starfleet and the perks that came with it. It shouldn’t matter so much, except that it does. 

 “You look upset, dear. Is something the matter?” Elim murmurs into his ear as they huddle together on the couch, a scaled hand pressing against the edge of his thigh. His touch is almost feather light, as though afraid to press. So much for hiding his feelings. 

 Julian glances up at him and catches the fear in his gaze, the slight tightening of his ridges as his eyes flicker to Kelas’ mark on his arm, still only having a small bubble of blue to show for itself. It’s more than enough, more than Julian ever expected, but he can understand why it worries Elim. His own colors have come in so quickly, it’s almost hard to believe. 

 Julian smiles softly, leaning across him to press a soft and not entirely chaste kiss to Kelas’ mouth. “Yes, but not about that. I don’t think that will be a problem again any time soon.” 

 “Then what has you so upset, love?” Kelas raises an eye ridge carefully as he leans in so their hands brush against each other, arms outstretched across Elim. Julian can’t imagine it’s comfortable for him, but he just glances at their hands affectionately as they intertwine. 

 Julian squeezes Kelas’ hand once before pulling back to collapse into his corner of the couch, biting his lip as he tries to think of  _ how  _ to explain what he means. he knows, with everything that’s happened over the past few days - his being discharged from Starfleet, the bond between him and Kelas finally forming on his end, the orchids starting to bloom in Elim’s garden - that this will seem childish and petty.

 But Julian can’t help it. It  _ bothers  _ him. “I have nothing to wear.” 

 “I could have told you that years ago.” Elim quips as he let’s out a sound halfway between a laugh and a scoff, as though to highlight that Julian is being exactly as ridiculous as he feels. But Julian notices the way he glances at his neon yellow tank top and purple shorts with concern and presses on anyway. 

 “Elim, be serious! I can’t wear the Starfleet uniform if I’m no longer in Starfleet, and everything else I wear feels too casual for a doctor.” Julian groans as he runs his hands through his hair, grasping a bit at the edges of his increasingly unruly curls. Wonderful, he needs new clothes  _ and _ a new haircut while stuck on a planet that doesn’t have enough resources for either. 

 Julian knows it doesn’t really matter,  _ shouldn’t _ matter. But for as much as Elim likes to tease him about his sloppy ways and inability to dress himself, Julian’s always taken a certain pride in his professional appearance. His uniform was always in perfect condition, not a button out of place or a stripe crooked. 

 “You do value fastidiousness in your work.” Kelas murmurs softly, a hand brushing against his cheek tenderly. He frowns a bit through, gaze narrowing as he glances down at his own pristine grey coat and sky blue vest. He and Elim are both wearing layers upon layers for a Cardassian spring Julian has been astonished to hear called cold. “But I fear the typical wear for a doctor might be too warm for you.”

 “You’re quite right, my dear doctor. I’ll have to make him something airy, but still suitable for work.” Elim grins in a way that feels altogether dangerous, blue eyes sparkling as he takes a leisurely glance up and down Julian’s frame, gaze resting on where his shorts have ridden up slightly on his thighs. 

 Julian notices Kelas’ gaze does the reverse of Elim’s, a certain spark coming a light in his eyes when they meet Julian’s. It makes Julian flush a bit, even as relief swells in his chest. Julian’s never really been in doubt of his own attractiveness - his looks were as enhanced as everything else - but that doesn’t mean every person he’s going to come across will find him aesthetically pleasing. 

 He hasn’t been sure with Kelas, who touches him tenderly, chastely, but with all the romantic interest of Miles O’Brien. But that spark can’t be mistaken for anything but what it is, and Julian feels a thrill run through him as a thin line of red crosses through the center of his mark. 

 “Remember that suitable for work part, darling.” Julian tuts in a purposefully low voice as he leans over to press a kiss to one of Elim’s neck ridges, one sliding down to rest on Kelas’ thigh. He supposes it’s time they figure out the mechanics of this too. 

* * *

 Kelas moves in a month after the bond between him and Julian finally starts to form. After several dozen conversations that, yes, Julian doesn’t mind moving at Cardassian speeds rather than the more glacial Terran one, Kelas finds himself unpacking his books while Julian tries to reorganize a shelf for that’s already too full.

 Julian glances over at him and then back at the shelf, pursing his lips as he takes in his lines of padds. Kelas had been shocked by the sheer volume, but then he supposed collecting books isn’t a luxury in the Federation. Kelas can’t help but wonder sometimes at the easy excess Julian grew up with, in stark contrast to the class system of Cardassia. “Are you sure you don’t want more shelf space, Kelas? I can move some of my books under the bed.”

 “Elim wouldn’t approve of that at all.” Kelas chides without any real heat, one hand coming up to press against Julian’s hip. Julian lets out an exaggerated sigh even as he puts one of his pads back down on the shelf, just slightly crooked as though to annoy himself and Elim. 

 “Well, he should learn to be less fussy.” Julian’s voice is too fond for him to really mean it, gaze dropping to the even lines of grey and purple along his right wrist. Julian traces his thumb across them, a delighted smile blossoming across his face and making the corner of his eyes wrinkle. “You don’t know yet, but sometimes he’s almost unbearable.”

 “But then who would make sure the house stays clean?” Kelas lets out a small sigh, shaking his head as he glances at the perfectly aligned books and carefully plumped pillows on the couch, an eye catching but not the ostentatious blue. He suspects poor Julian had almost no part in decorating their living space. 

 But then, Kelas suspects if left to his own devices, Julian would have pads and papers stacked across the room and so many garish colors that even he might get a headache from them. Better for him and Elim to keep things in order. 

 “I think you might be insulting me.” Julian sighs as he presses a hand against his chest, in what Kelas has come to suspect is a human expression of melodrama. Then Julian leans in, expression positively impish as he presses their foreheads together. His eyes sparkle with a playfulness that Kelas finds himself growing rather fond of. “I’m not offended, I know that means you think I’m quite attractive right now.” 

 “Insulting? I’m simply stating facts, love. You are the messiest of the three of us.” Kelas smiles teasingly as he presses a quick kiss to Julian’s cheek, a stray curl brushing across his cheek. His own mark tingles a little, the gentle warmth of Julian’s’ bond grow stronger everyday. It’s somehow soft and sparkling at the same time, like drops of light making electric currents along his skin. 

 Julian raises an eyebrow at him and shakes his head a little, so his curls brush against his nose. He kisses him, soft and sweet, but there’s that same spark from before when he pulls away. “And you’re secretly the fussiest.” 

 And that is how Kelas ends up spending nearly an hour arguing with Julian over if organizing his medical jackets by color and season is  _ really  _ pickier than organizing his books by alphabet or by the number of letters in their title, Julian half on the couch and half on his lap as he makes points between kisses. 

* * *

 Garak attends the political meeting intending to serve as an advocate, to prevent Cardassia from going down the same path that led it to where it was now. Instead he found himself swept up in Alon Ghemor’s unexpectedly good graces and agrees to consider running for the senate once they’ve created it.

 It’s not until he’s almost home that it occurs to him that he might have talked this over with Julian and Kelas first. 

Garak raises an eyebrow as he walks through the front door, mind momentarily distracted from the politics of Cardassia when a familiar scent of the domestic Cardassia hits him. He glances up at Julian with a raised eye ridge. “Fish bread? I thought you said you hated it so much you’d never dare eat it, dear.” 

 “And I’m not going to, my bread is distinctly not fishy. But I know you and Kelas somehow find it delicious.” Julian tuts with a pinched expression as he hands a few slices of bread to Garak. Garak snorts softly as Julian shakes his head in mild disgust, hand coming back to his own bland and flavorless bread. Humans really can be inexplicable sometimes. 

 “How thoughtful of you, dear.” Garak takes a bite of the fish bread, savoring the deceptively light taste and mixture of flavors. Julian really was becoming quite domestic; at this rate he might even learn how to not just leave his clothes on the floor. The thought makes Elim smile, even has his mind drifts back to Cardassia. 

 He never wanted to be an elected official, was always happy to stay in the shadows that have been his home since childhood and to strengthen Cardassia from them. But this is a new Cardassia, beaten but not defeated, proud in its efforts to rebuild and to change. Maybe that calls for a new Elim Garak too, one who fights for Cardassia where everyone can see. 

 Failure is a possibility, of course. But he’s always been adaptable. No, his only real worry is the men eating dinner alongside him and how his rivals could potentially try and destroy them. Kelas is so sensitive and Julian is alien to Cardassia still. Neither would be hard to play against them and -

 Garak looks up as he feels a gentle rap on his arm, Kelas smiling softly even as he raises an eye ridge. “Elim? You seem distracted, love.”

 “They want me to run for office. I’ll lose of course, but maybe I can change some minds in the process, stir up some much needed controversy.” Garak keeps his voice light and cheerful as he takes another sip of his kanar, making it perfectly clear that he’s already decided to run. A few seconds pass in silence and Garak’s smile grows just a touch stiff as he waits for their reactions. Neither have reason to be a fan of politicians anymore, after all. 

 Kelas grins then, the same way he did the first time Garak mentioned he might work in politics, affectionate and proud and just the right level of wary. Kelas presses a hand over his at the same time Julian clasps the other. Ahhh “What makes you think you’d lose?”

 “So I take it you have no objections to me running?” Garak can’t help but let out a small sigh of relief as the same cerulean blue spreads out across his marks. Loyalty to the state and to the family. 

 Julian leans in and his grin is teasing, but his gaze takes on a surprisingly heated determination and protectiveness, as though he’s already named himself Garak’s campaign manager and guard all in one. “Not as long as you play to win. There’s no point in someone with a first rate mind settling for second place all the time.”

 “You really have grown up.” Garak murmurs warmly, gaze proud and relieved in the same beat. The Julian of a few years ago would have been too excited by the possibilities for change to think about needing protection. The Julian of a few months ago would have thought he should stay in the shadows, heroic martyrdom more attractive than true sacrifice.

 But now they’re both past that, free to live their lives out in the open with Kelas, who Elim suspects defeated his own shadows long ago. 

* * *

 “It’s half way full now.” Julian runs his index finger along Kelas’ mark on his wrist, holding his arms up so both men can see on either side of him. There’s rich shades of purple now that bleed into various shades of blue, a cascade pouring down toward the edges of his wrist. Julian presses his finger down on one of those colors, glancing up at Elim with a wide smile. “Look at how much more navy blue Kelas has than either of us, Elim. I wonder why that is.”

 “Because I’m not as melodramatic.” Kelas throws out as traces over the same lines on Julian’s wrist with his thumb, the warmth of their bond like a weight against his chest. 

 Elim makes a clicking sound with his tongue, his hand coming out to gently poke Kelas in the smooth curve of his thigh. Kelas glances at him, smile small and crooked as Julian curls further between them on the bed. “No, you just mope instead of letting us know you’re upset.” 

 “Don’t bicker, we’re doing something here.” Julian tuts as he presses a light kiss to Garak’s left wrist, right on the smooth lines of turquoise of Kelas’ mark. Then he pulls back to do the same to Garak’s mark on Kelas’ wrist, instead focusing on the smooth purple circles and lines. When he pulls back though, he can’t help noticing that his mark on Kelas has added a new shade. “Now see, my mark on Kelas’ arm has this streak of lighter pink and yours doesn’t yet, Elim. I wonder what that could stand for.”

 Elim grins teasingly at him and nips at the soft skin at the base of his neck, where his most sensitive ridges would be if he were Cardassian. It’s still enough to make Julian gasp, body shivering as Elim pulls back, breath cool against his ear. “How childish you are.” 

 “Hope.” Kelas corrects him in a voice that’s barely a whisper as he stretches an arm out across both of them. 

 Julian wonders if Kelas means the hope he showed in Julian when he was near his lowest or the hope Julian can feel bursting through his own skin or even the hope they both share in Elim Garak. Then he decides it doesn’t matter. Both brought them all here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends not with a bang or a whimper, but a dollop of domestic fluff. 
> 
> Comments and questions are loved! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and questions are loved!! :)
> 
> Also please always feel free to tell me if you think anything is off/problematic/grammatically incorrect. I want to improve as both a person and as a writer, so being told when I'm in the wrong/when I mess words up is always appreciated.


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